The Social Network
by lizzie.bananalovesRDJ
Summary: John and Sherlock go abroad for a case. Sherlock Decides to hack into John's facebook page. What he finds prompts him to do something that will change his relationship with John for the foreseeable future. Will be multi-chaptered. Chapter 13 up!
1. Chapter 1 The getaway

Title: The social network

Summary: John and Sherlock go abroad for a case. Sherlock Decides to hack into John's facebook page. What he finds prompts him to do something that will change his relationship with John for the foreseeable future.

Chapter 1- The getaway

'Sherlock, I really can't. My patients, I can't leave them for three weeks!'

'All of your regular and indeed semi-regular patients have been notified of your departure and returning dates. Sarah has agreed to take charge at them and hold open your job, curtacy of a fee payed by our client.' I state, who new John would take so much persuasion to embark on what is essentially an all expenses payed vacation.

'It's all well and good that your client is paying for our trips and stay, but is he also paying you an additional fee for your time? How will we pay the rent here at Baker Street?'

'Worry not Watson, our client is not short of cash. I have arranged a fee that will more than cover not only our rent, but will also ensure that the good land lady, Mrs Hudson keep Baker street inhabitable in our absence.

At my last comment, I see John's eyebrows effectively knit together as he attempts to think of another reason not to accompany me. He seems stumped. My deductions were correct. Thank goodness for that. For a moment there I thought that I would be forced to fly and stay alone.

I have recently come to the conclusion that companionship has its benefits, and John Watson seems to have all the correct qualities to make an excellent associate. Loyal, fearless, excellent medical training, intelligent, friendly, kind and looks very sweet in the jumpers he insists upon wearing.

Besides, the plane journey from London to Spain is a whole two hours! That would mean two hours without my violin or BlackBerry, two hours with limited leg room, surrounded with idiots.

I deduce that John will make the whole ordeal much more bearable.

'Besides, the client has already payed for our tickets and hotel rooms.' I add for good measure. John can never bear to appear ungrateful.

'Indeed. But how could you possibly know that I would agree to accompany you?'

Ah, I see. John wishes me to appear to beg. I can do that. 'Please John' I say, adorning the puppy melt in your mouth eyes. John never can resist those eyes.

'Yes fine. I can see that there's no possible way for me to win this argument. When do we leave?'

'Flights at 8 o'clock. I consulted Lestrade, and apparently the airport has a ludicrous rule about being there 3 hours before our flight. The time is currently 3.55. We must leave 30 minutes for a taxi ride to the airport. We have precisely 35 minutes.' I say. Just over half an hour is enough time to pack a bag, isn't it?

'You're kidding! Half an hour?' Apparently not. Note to self: In future, inform John of any flight plans at least an hour in advance.

'35 minuets' I correct.

To this John throws a cushion in my face. It hits me squarely on my nose. Perfect aim as per usual. But rather unnecessary!

Before I have a chance to recipicate John's childish behaviour (and honestly, ive been informed that I am the resident 5 year old), He dashes out of the living room, and into the bathroom, forgetting to lock the door behind him. Perhaps he's finally listened to my point that there are only the two of us in the apartment. Locks are not necessary.

A moment later, I hear the shower run. Hum John in the shower. Naked, covered in soap suds. Drenched hair sticking to his face. Droplets of water dripping down his body, hair lathered in shampoo. How easy would it be for me to walk into be bathroom. Sneak up behind him, trace a line down his back, softly with my finger, and watch as his hair stands on end and goose bumps begin to emerge. He'd turn around. Swiftly, soldier instincts. He'd be shocked and about to say something, but I would place my middle finger on his lips and a second later, place my own lips on his. The first kiss would be soft, chase even. At first he won't respond. I place another kiss onto his lips. It only last a couple of seconds. I then draw away and look into his dark chocolate eyes.

He stairs back at me and pulls me fully under the torrent of water, soaking my clothes until they cling onto me and my shirt appears almost see though. He moves his head towards mine and I instinctively meet him half way. Our lips crash. Moving in sync with each other. His hand his twisted in my hair, pulling me closer still. I nudge his mouth open and slip my tongue into his mouth. Instantly my scences are filled with warmth, his mouth is so warm on mine. So delicious. His tongue joins mine and our mouths slowly move in sync with the other. I abandon his tongue and take to sucking on his bottom lip, watching in ore as he responds with such vigour.

After god knows how long, I pull away, much to the disappointment of John; if the look in his eyes is anything to go by. Smirking at him, I begin to lick and nibble (for want of a better word) at John's collar bone, slowly blowing air at his skin. While I continue my 'assault' on John, he hastily attempts to remove my sodden shirt, slowly undoing the buttons, making me gasp as his fingers touch my bare skin. Then my trousers and boxes, undoing the button and zip and edging them down my legs, forcing me to hitch my breath as his nimble fingers come into contact with my thighs.

Not one to be outdone, I lower my mouth, licking my way down to John's nipples, licking and sucking at them one at a time, until they turn to hard little pebbles in my mouth. I place a kiss on each of them, and then continue to lick my way down his body.

While I do this, john focus's his attentions on placing harp hazard bites around my neck, leaving what im sure will be bruises, or love bites tomorrow.

As my kisses go lower down John's stomach and abdomen, I notice John's breathing become noticeably faster, and his heart rate noticeably increase, I smile to myself, relishing in the fact that I am the cause of the good doctor's loss of control.

I continue my journey downwards until I come face to face with John's penis. By this point the water is running luke-warm but neither of us cares. John' wrapped up in pleasure and I am relishing in what I am about to do to the Watson I had thought to be heterosexual.

I place a single kiss to John's penis, and begin to worry about how to proceed, as despite my earlier confidence, I am indeed a novice at acts of a sexual nature.

John apparently scences my unsurely, for he strokes my hair comfortingly, and ushers me in the right direction. Unsure of my actions, I stroke john with my hand, surprised at the lack of contact it takes for john to groan and squirm. I then take a chance and take the first couple of inches of John's penis into my mouth. He groans and takes hold of my hair, urging me to take more of him into my mouth.

'Oh god John' I moan unconsciously.

I run my tongue up him, causing him to spasm in my mouth and groan my name…

'Oh god Sherlock!'

'Sherlock!'

'Sherlock!'

The voice of John really is rather persistent. I open my eyes and find m top half fully clothed and lying on my bed, mercifully covered with a blanket, so john cannot see any evidence of my rather embarrassing dream.

'Sherlock, I've been calling you for 2 minutes! Were you day dreaming?' He asks. Thank goodness for that. He doesn't appear discsusted at me. He mustn't be aware of my dream.

'Yes I believe I must have been' I confirm before I actually look at John. He's not wearing a shirt. Calm down Sherlock. This is perfectly normal. Lots of flatmates walk around shirtless. I doesn't mean anything.

'What can I do for you John?' I ask, when I finally come to terms with the fact that John is standing at my bedside looking genuinely worried.

'I heard you moan my name. I thought you were having a nightmare.'

'Oh' of course. A nightmare. That would explain everything. Now, what to be dreaming about… 'I uh dreamed about the night at the pool' I say, knowing that will require no further explanation.

John's face turns white at the memory. 'Are you alright?'

'Perfectly. Now, go and pack. You have…. 23 minuets' I say after consulting my watch.

John then walks out of my room. When he reaches my door however I call out 'John?'

He turns to look at me so I continue 'Thank you for being there for me.'

'Any time.' He says as he walks out of my room, shutting the door behind him.

The second he leaves the room, I leap out of bed, clean myself with a stray tissue, and remove my dirty clothing. I step across a whole array of experiments (most of them failed or inconclusive) to reach my wardrobe. I throw on a shirt, purple in colour, a pair of dark blue skinny jeans (the pair mummy bought me), socks and shoes, and grab my trade mark back coat and blue scarf to put on when we leave. I reach up to the top of my wardrobe and pull down my pre-packed suit case, heavy and back in colour, and a travel bag complete with tickets, money, insurance papers, relevant case files, passport, BlackBerry, iPod, and books, and place it next to the case. I double check I have everything then look again at my watch. 4.21, 9 more minutes. In order to stop my mind from dwelling on my 'dream' containing John, I mentally attempt to recall every detail I can about the case I have been hired for.

This tactic appears to work, as when I suffice, I hear John calling me, alerting me that it is time to leave Baker Street.

To cut a long story short, a little under an hour later, we arrive at the airport and the check in desk.

'Doctor John Watson and Sherlock Holmes to check in.' I say to the young woman at the desk, while john hands her our passports and other bits of apparently relevant paper.

**Deductions:**

**.mid to late 20's.**

**.married 10 months unhappily- has nothing in common with husband.**

**.Husband is older. Has 1… no 2 children**

**.Woman doesn't get along with children.**

**.Clothes dishevelled. Been thrown on in a hurry. Eyes slightly puffy at the corners. – Family member ill, sleeping at hospital. – Most likely mother. Terminal patient.**

**Conclusions:**

**Married because she wanted companionship with mother ill and father dead. No siblings. Regrets getting married. Doesn't get on with husband, works despite having no real reason too, wants to get out of the house -air ports command long hours. Husband has 2 children, both young teens, both resent woman.**

'Alright gentlemen, if you'd like to place your bags that you wish to check in on the conveyor belt. Now, does either of your bags contain any sharp objects, explosive devices or potential weapons? She asks, bored look etched on her face. She is obviously not expecting John or I to say yes, so it comes to quite a shock to her and myself when john says:

'Um... Yes. My companion no dought does. He's an um... scientist. You might want to check his bag?'

**Author's note: My first 'M' rated fic. What do you think? **

**TBC?**


	2. Chapter 2 The exgirlfriend

The Social Network

Chapter 2: The ex-girlfriend

'You're admitting to having potentially dangerous items inside your luggage?' Asks the girl or Emma as her name badge reads, judging by the stunned look plastered onto her face, this rarely happens.

'Yes. Experience has taught me that admitting things from the off gets things done much more effectively.

Emma nods and ushers us into a side door, where we are met with yet another woman in the blue airport dress code. She wears a name badge saying 'Julia – security manager.'

Once the first woman has left the room, 'Julia' offers both John and I seats on one side of the desk and sits alone on the other.

The whole room is very cliché, no windows, white washed walls, with a blue table and three blue chairs being the only furniture. All that's missing is a single light bulb dangling from the ceiling. Even so, the whole affair strongly represents one of those detectives (if you can call them detectives) shows that John so loves.

I figure my suit case must have been searched, as a moment later; a plastic see through bag is bought into the room and emptied onto the table. My pen knife and a jar of 4 human fingers are just some of the things it contains.

'You're lucky your partner informed us about these items sir, had you not done so, the police would have been called, and the whole affair would have been far more serious. As it is, you will be granted permission to embark onto your flight, on the condition that these… items remain here.' She says.

'Oh please.' I mock 'I have Scotland yard at my fingertips.'

Before I am given the neither chance to say anything else, nor Julia a chance to re-consider, john interjects with a:

'Thank you ma'am. Are we free to leave?'

'Yes. And Doctor, If you don't mid me saying so, you two make a lovely couple. Is this your first holiday together? She says. Evidently this woman has a soft spot for men that look 'sweet' together. Either that or what she presumes to be gay men in general.

'Well technically yes, but I assure you' we're just friends and flatmates.' John enforces.

'Are you sure?' She presses 'For here at 'holidays in the sun' we have a custom of upgrading couples such as you and Mr Holmes here to first class.'

'I do believe we are already traveling in first class' He points out.

The woman looks stumped for a second, until somewhere inside her little brain, a light bulb lights up. 'In that case, a bottle of a complementary beverage of your choice?'

Why not. What harm can it do? 'John here is a little nervous about voicing it aloud, as he has yet to come out to his father, but we are indeed a couple, and this holiday marks our two year anniversary.' I smoothly lie. Why turn down the offer of a free drink, because of the small matter that John is apparently heterosexual. He's always telling me to save money. Now we get a free drink. Perfect.

'Um yes… what he said.' Says John, clearly incapable of stringing together a sentence longer than 5 syllables at present.

In order to re-iterate my point (and only to obtain a free beverage, not because I feel any sexual attraction to John), I turn to face him and without giving him a chance to prepare or protest, kiss him on the mouth.

For a second he resists, but after a moment or too, he begins to respond, and I notice his heartbeat subtly begin to rise, and a small mound in his trousers.

My first real kiss with Doctor John Watson and my 4th kiss (not counting family and family friends) ever.

Julia beams at us and says: 'Well isn't that lovely. You two are free to leave. I believe your flight leaves in less than 2 hours, follow the signs and you should come to the first class lounge. You'll be comftable there.

I then grab John's hand, squeeze it for reassurance, and take the tickets the woman offers me with the other. John then leads me out of the room, presumably embarrassed and wanting to get out of that acward situation ASAP.

We reach the door before the woman calls out:

'Mr Holmes?'

'Yes?'

'Do you have an address that you would like these… items sent to?' She asks, gesturing to Sherlock's confiscated experiments and trinkets.

'Certainly' I reply 'If you would be so kind as to send my contra ban too…'

'221b Baker Street' Finishes John.

**-SHERLOCK-**

We find the first class lounge with relative ease, and relax, john sipping a complementary cup of coffee, while I make use of the free WIFI on my BlackBerry.

'Our flight has been delayed by 17 minutes.' I mention to John in passing.

'Ah well we aren't in a rush are we?' Then the obvious hits him. 'Hang on, there's no board in here, how can you tell?'

'I hacked into the airports security systems.' I mean honestly, it's not that big a deal. If they didn't want me hacking in they should have used a proper password. '12345678910*' is not a valid password.

'Sherlock! Get out of there! You'll get us arrested before we even get on the plane!'

'Oh relax John, your worse than Mycroft. It's not illegal. Just frowned upon. Rather like masturbating on planes.' I say rather loudly, much to the apparent disgust of the other people in the room, if their faces are anything to go by.

'Sherlock! Keep your voice down! Of course it's illegal! Get of that website!'

Since John stopped my fun with the airports computer system, I deduce that it is only fair that I hack into John's facebook page, in order to keep myself occupied. Tit for tat.

It takes me three guesses to get the password. I try the usual 'johnwatson' and 'harry2011', before I think of 'sherlockgetofmyfacebook', which turns out to be correct.

His wall is relatively un-interesting, mainly consisting of messages from his sister wanting to meet up and ex-army and doctor friends wondering if he's free for drinks. There are also messages from Lestrade and various clients (people have long since realised that the most effective way to contact me is though John). There are the obvious occasional 'status' posts from John himself, but most curiously, posts from a woman I have never heard or seen of. Miss Mary Morstan, arranging 'dinner dates' with John.

I decide to let it simmer in my mind for the moment, and pass the time by writing several 'status's' on john's wall under his name, including:

'At the airport with Sherlock, just admitted im gay to a check in woman called Julia.'

'(Musical note) I kissed a guy and I liked it!'

Eventually, this becomes tedious, so I settle for reading john's facebook messages.

Again, an alarming number are from Miss Morstan.

Suddenly an alarm bell thought comes to me. John isn't … No … But, what if … What if John is in a relationship with this woman?

My suspicions are confirmed by John's personal information on the social network.

'John Watson is in a relationship with Mary Morstan.'

But... relationships mean … sex, or so I'm told.

Sex leads to a long term relationship, then marriage, children, country house, respectable, well payed job, leaving Baker Street.

Why didn't John tell me about this woman? Of course! Stupid! Obvious! Look at what happened between John and Sarah. I would sabotage their relationship like I have with every woman John has dared to bring back to our home.

Well there's only one solution. First, break up with this Mary Morstan. Yes, over a social network.

Quickly, I compose on facebook an email to Morstan. Effectively 'dumping' her. I originally aimed to make it swift and to the point, but I end up rambling, in an attempt to appear to be John.

I then change John's relationship status to single.

After somewhat skilfully pick pocketing John's phone (in order to make sure all contact with the UK is abolished), I make myself a mental (and blackberry) note to keep John away from computers until we return to the UK. After that, I have no idea.

In his emails to Mary, he promised to email her every day from Spain. Hopefully, the fact that he loses contact with her, coupled with the fact that he has 'cyber-dumped' her, she will get the message.

I then sit back and relax, relishing in the fact that for the foreseeable future, John will not leave me for a woman.

But then another thought comes to mind. What if I could be absolutely sure that John doesn't date another woman? What if there is a way to stop women from flirting with him? What if everyone was under the impression that John is not available, because he is dieting me?

With the click of a button, and my own facebook account accepting the relationship request and it's done.

A moment later it appears clear as day on both John's and my newsfeeds.

'Sherlock Holmes is in a relationship with John Watson.'

**Hello, I'd like to thank my 3 wonderful reviewers, and everyone who put this story on alert. I love you all! Remember, the more reviews, the faster I update, tis the way of (my) world.**

**Oh and the phrase: 'It's not illegal, just frowned upon, like masturbating on a plane.' Was a prompt on the 'Sherlock Kink meme' by 'luckysilverbell' so thank you for the great phrase!**

**Love Lizzie xx**


	3. Chapter 3 The master Blackmailer

The Social Network

Chapter 3: The Master Blackmailer

The flight went relatively well, with the exception of a small 'grape-juice' incident which both John and I agree will remain un-documented.

Predictably, John doesn't give his phone a second thought until we reach the hotel. Apparently he has become so used to my 'borrowing' it, that it's hardly abnormal for him to be without him.

However, once all the bags are unpacked and there is nothing to occupy his mind, he remembers it.

'Sherlock! Have you seen my phone?'

'What? No, not since Baker Street.' I lie smoothly as ever.

'I really must email M… Someone.'

Interesting. He wishes to contact Mary. And still appears to think I am oblivious of her existence.

'Is there somewhere I can get internet access, or a phone I can use?'

Darn John and his persistence. It should be easy enough to keep him away from internet access, but phones? Short of disabling every phone connection in Spain, I really don't see what can be done. They're everywhere.

'I haven't a clue John. There's probably a phone in the lobby downstairs.'

Would Spain be able to function for two weeks without the aid of the telephone? Perhaps not.

Now. Something to keep him distracted.

Bleep! Text message received from:

Mycroft Holmes.

My sourced inform me you are in Spain dear brother. Perhaps John and yourself would care to join me for luncheon tomorrow? And I happened to glance at a social networking sight. It would seem congratulations are in order. MH.

Dam Mycroft and his government status. I then begin counting down from ten. There's no way that's the end of Mycroft's interfering.

10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1,0

Predictably when I reach 0, there is a knock at the door.

Quick and sharp. A delivery woman. Works for the hotel.

'Champagne for a doctor Watson and Sherlock Holmes.'

'Yes, thank you.' I say, swiftly taking the bottle and ushering the woman out of the room.

After all, there's always a possibility that John didn't see her or the bottle.

'Champagne?' He says looking confused. 'Did you order it?'

'It's uh… complementary.' I say in a rush.

'There's a note attached' Notices John, and he snatches it before I have a chance to stop him.

'To: Doctor Watson and Sherlock Holmes, room 306.

From: MH

I hear congratulations are in order. Don't screw this up brother. And John, don't break his heart.' He reads.

'Sherlock, what's going on?'

'It's uh… In connection with our case.' Yes! The case. That should distract attention.

'Ah our illusionist client. Who is it anyway?'

'A Mr and Mrs Sway.'

'What do they require your assistance with?'

'The sway family are not without considerable fortune, but most of their money is tied up in assets, that cannot be cashed in for a good few years yet. They have a 24 year old daughter Alicia. Their daughter now wishes to marry, and is engaged to Lord Tomas Morrison. However, before she met her fiancé, she sent…'

'Compromising emails to another man.' Finishes John. 'And if these emails were to reach her fiancé, or indeed his family, she would be ruined, and the marriage called off. But surely emails alone couldn't ruin a 21st century couple. No matter how explicit the content. Were their pictures involved?'

John really is surprisingly good at this. More so than I give him credit for.

'Indeed John, you are developing considerable deductive skills of your own. The Morrison family are strict Catholics, with a no sex before marriage belief. The emails contain pictures of Miss Sway in a 'compromising' position with a former boyfriend. Needless to say that it is of the upmost importance to Mr and Mrs Sway that these pictures are found and the blackmailer apprehended.

I then hand John copies of the photos, showing Alicia aged 19 in various positions with a man of around 20.

'Who is threating to expose the photos?'

'The ex-boyfriend's father, a Mr Edmund. Apparently he wasn't too happy when Alicia broke up with his son. He wishes for the Sways to give him 100,000 euro's, otherwise he will publicize the pictures.' I say, struggling to complete my sentences while staring striate at John, effectively mentally undressing him.

Goodness, I hope he can't tell.

Don't be stupid Holmes! John isn't a moron, besides, im hardly being discrete, staring at him for prolonged periods of time. Best get away.

'Anyway John, go and rest, you've been traveling all day and we need to have an early start tomorrow.' I babble so quickly that I'll be amazed if John caught a word.

'Urgh why Sherlock?' He moans.

'There's a ball tomorrow night John, both the Sway's, Morrison's and Edmunds's will be attending. It will provide an excellent chance to acquaint ourselves with them. The affair is white tie; we need to go shopping, worry not, our client pays expenses. We are also forced to meet my brother Mycroft for lunch, and several key people to interview.' I finish. There, if that isn't an excuse to go to bed I don't know what is.

'Yes fine.' Gosh, he really must be tired if he isn't arguing. Hopefully so tired that he won't attempt to call Mary. Not that he'll be able too. I've stolen the book he keeps his phone numbers in from his suit case.

John then heads for his room and I call out:

'Good night John.'

Which is recipicated with:

'Night Sherlock.'

The moment John has left our main room (convenient that) I receive a text from Mycroft saying:

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: Mycroft Holmes

So you'll be joing me for luncheon? Splendid. Shall we say 1 O'clock, the Royal? I will send a car. – MH

Groaning at the thought of it, I reply to Mycroft accepting, disable the three bugs and camera's Mycroft has hooked up throughout our hotel rooms and just because I can, I re-program his listening devices to only pick up smooth FM.

I undress, throw on my silk pyjamas, and sit on my bed, with no intention of sleeping.

Why? Because sleep slows down the thought process.

Right. Think.

**Deductions:**

**I am in love with John Watson. What? No! I am a sociopath; I'm not capable of love.**

**Ok, I am attracted to John Watson… sexually.**

**Ok. Glad we got that figured out. **

**But what to do about it?**

**I wish to have intercourse with John. – Fact.**

**John is a heterosexual. – Fact. Or is it? His glance does sometimes linger for too long; he does occasionally show signs of arousal around me. He does give up on perspective sex with a woman to solve crimes with me. He cares about me. Came to Spain at half an hour's notice.**

**Deduction: John Watson may harbour feelings for me.**

But what do I do about it? If I'm wrong he could leave Baker Street. Leave me.

Alright, I kiss John. Gage his reactions. And if he responds negatively… I'll cross that bridge if it comes to it.

Nervous, and for the first time in my life without a plan B, I grab my dressing gown and walk to John's door.

Nock Nock Nock 'John?'

Nock Nock Nock 'John?'

Nock Nock Nock 'John?'

Without saying anything, or giving him a chance to fully wake up, I walk over to the left side of John's bed.

'Sherlock?'

That's when I kiss him, properly on the mouth. And this time, it's not a dream. Just a fantasy come true.

**Hello! Thank you to all my wonderful reviews, you all rock! I'm sorry this chapter is shorter than the others, Im in a serious rush, im going to see Sherlock Holmes: a game of shadows for New Year's Eve in about 10 minutes! Can't wait! I hope this chapter was worth it, I am seriously annoying my boyfriend, im refusing to answer his messages while I type this up, oppsie!**

**Reviews = fast updates! Keep me motivated! Love Lizzie xx**


	4. Chapter 4 The personal assistant

The Social Network

Chapter 4 – The personal assistant.

I'm kissing John Watson. Or rather John is kissing me. Our lips move together perfectly. His mouth is so warm, his lips softer than I expected. His tongue finds its way into my mouth, causing me to moan in pleasure.

My hands are either side of John's face, effectively pulling his face closer to his own and his hands are caught in my hair, tousling my dark hands with his strong hands. I suddenly find myself in a un-comftable position, finding it increasingly difficult to support myself standing up while I kiss john who is still lying down.

John continues to play with my hair, urging me to lie on his bed next to him. More than happy to oblige, John breaks the kiss, allowing me to climb onto his bed, and wrap his neck around his neck.

John initiates the kiss this time, and it continues much like the first, until I begin to undo the buttons on John's pyjama shirt.

He effectively freezes at this and immediately I realise something isn't right.

'John?' I softly mummer

'Sherlock I'm sorry.' He says, pulling away from me and re-doing his buttons. 'I'm not gay, we can't do this.' Says John apologetically

'But… I thought…' I stutter most unusually for me. Apparently John as a real effect on me.

'Sherlock, I'm tired, can we talk about this in the morning?' Presses John clearly hinting for me to leave his room. But in his voice I notice a hint of regret. Perhaps he's only pushing me away because he fees duty bound to be heterosexual, what with his sister and army background.

'Yes of course John. I'll just… leave.' I say, climbing of the bed and wrapping my dressing gown tightly around me, suddenly feeling exposed.

'Night Sherlock.'

Goodnight John.'

Ashamed and embarrassed, and terrified of the repercussions that my one foolish action could have caused, I dash back to my room and press three nicotine patches to my arm. I need to think. Cocaine would be better, but Mycroft threatened me with a year in a rehabilitation place if he caught be again.

Apparently John does have underling feelings for me, but for whatever reason he doesn't wish to expose them.

What to do? Obviously kissing John again is out of the question, so another way is necessary to show him how much he means to me.

Before I know it, its morning, and John stands in my door way, looking sleep deprived with tousled hair, dressed in pyjamas and wrapped in a blanket.

Apparently I fell asleep last night. Unusual.

'Sherlock, we need to talk.'

According to various chat forums, that particular phrase is never good. Its usual meaning is 'we're over' But since John and I were never in a relationship, it must have a different meaning.

'Of course John, sit down?' I offer, gesturing to the end of my bed.

'Um… thanks.' He says, as he acwardly perches on the end of my bed. 'So Sherlock, about last night… I…'

'I'm sorry John' I interrupt 'I understand that you aren't attracted to me.'

'No Sherlock, that's not what I was going to say. I uh… wanted to apologize for being so harsh with you last night.' He says, looking sheepish.

'It's perfectly ok John.' I say. Honestly, how could John think he needs to apologize? It was I who was at fault, forcing myself onto him.

'No Sherlock it's not ok. You surprised me last night. I guess I always assumed you're asexual.' Says an embarrassed looking John

'I'm not asexual.'

'But you said you're married to your work?'

He looks confused. Best explain.

'When I told you that, I had only just met you, I was hardly going to explain to you my entire life history. Besides, my work is important to me. But that doesn't mean I've renounced sexual intercourse.'

'Right' He says, looking unsure of himself. 'Anyway, are we alright?'

'Of course. Anyway John, best get dressed, we have an appointment with a suit tailor in … 48 minutes.' I say after consulting the clock on my wall.

'Right. Ok. Good.' Says John as he stands up to leave the room.

'John.' I say as he turns to leave 'Is there ever a chance that you could recipicate my feelings for you?'

'I don't know Sherlock. I don't know what I'm feeling right now.'

Alright. We can work with that.

**-SHERLOCK-**

'Sherlock have you seen the prices of some of these suits?' Cries out John in horror.

'Oh worry not John, expenses remember?'

I turn to the man behind the counter and say:

'Hola, ¿puede ayudarnos a encontrar un traje, por favor? (Hello, can you help us find a suit please)

'Ciertamente, señor, si usted quiere que me siga.' (Certainly sir, if you would like to follow me.)

Half an hour and a lot of complaining later, John and I are both kit out in suits fit for a ball. Pretty much identical black suits, soft white shirts, shiny shoes and neatly tied bow ties.

Though if you look little more closely you'll notice that John's suit fits just a little more closely than mine, jacket accentuating his shoulders and showing the well-defined muscles in his chest. Hair just a little ruffled from all the tiring on, brown eyes sparkling.

Honestly, he looks so divine that I would gladly throw him up against the wall of this changing room, tear of his clothes and screw him till that old walking stick of his will actually be needed to keep him upright. If that annoying Spanish clothes fitter wasn't here.

'Sí, sí que se ajuste tanto a la perfección. Te ves fantástica!' (Yes yes, they fit you both perfectly. You look fantastic!) She says, rather exaggerating our appearances.

'Sí, va a estar bien. Gracias por su ayuda. A Sway señor y la señora va a pagar por ellos.' (Yes, they will be fine. Thank you for your assistance. A Mr and Mrs Sway will pay for them.)

'I didn't know you speak Spanish.' Says John as he rather unsuccessfully tries to make small talk.

'There are a lot of things I can do that you don't know about John.' I say, realising only after the words have left my mouth that the words sound a lot more sexual and like a come-on than I had intended.

John apparently does misinterpret my words, as his cheeks turn red and he quickly coughs to cover up the rather acward situation.

'Uh yes. Where too now?'

'Lunch with Mycroft. Care to join me?'

'Of course.'

'That'll be our lift.' I say, indicating to one of Mycroft's trade mark cars.

'Ready for lunch with my brother? Could be dangerous.' I add

He nods, so I give the clothes shop assistant the address of our hotel and we get inside one of Mycroft's various cars/

We are greeted by a dark haired woman, who barley looks up from her BlackBerry as we enter the car.

'Hello…' Says John. Ah so this woman must be the famous PA of Mycroft's, who for some unknown reason, changes her name every day.

'Allison.' She replies.

'You've met before?' I ask John curiously.

'Oh yes. Mycroft had her kidnap me during the 'study in pink' case. Admits John.

Apparently he now considers it perfectly normal to be kidnapped. Mind you, he has met Mycroft, with his 'minor' role in the British Government.

Right. Something to pass the time. Lest see… Allison.

**Deductions:**

**Let's see… immaculate suit, yet tights have a few dark hairs on them. –Owns a small dog.**

**Hair perfectly curled, yet put hastily into a messy bun. –someone messed it up. Most likely by running fingers through it.**

**Silver necklace that isn't perfectly coulor co-ordinated with her outfit –holds sentimental value then. Present from Lover perhaps?**

**Expensive phone clearly holds sentimental value, shown by with the engraving 'with love'. Not the most romantic present. This person knows her well enough to know her job and that she enjoys it. –work college then.**

**But she's a PA. She only works for one person.**

'So 'Allison', for how long have you been sleeping with my brother?'

Both John and 'Allison' look at me shell shocked.

She even putts down her BlackBerry for a moment to regain her composure.

'6 mouths give or take. You're hear, Mycroft's waiting for you.'

She says as the door is opened and John and I are ushered out.

Once 'Allison's' car has left, I take John to a place where I'm sure that Mycroft is unable to see us and say:

'I do apologize John, but my brother appears to believe that you and I are in some sort of relationship. For the sake of getting this meeting out of the way as quickly as possible, may I ask you to play along?'

'What have you been saying to him for him to think that we're in **that** kind of relationship?' He hisses.

'Nothing I assure you, but my brother has an unfortunate knack of misinterpreting information.' I lie.

'Fine.' Relents John. He then grabs my hand and leads me in the direction of the table where Mycroft sits, eyeing up a chocolate cake on the next table.

John must have noticed my confused expression and explains 'If im going to pretend to be your boyfriend, im going to do it properly.'

'Ah Sherlock, and Doctor Watson. Do sit down. Can I interest you in anything to eat or drink?'

'Um…' Says John, clearly contemplating what drink is socially acceptable in such a gathering.

Mycroft clearly scences this too as he says: 'Or perhaps you would prefer champagne? To celebrate your new found relationship?'

'Perfect. We can kill two birds with one stone. Congratulations. I've been informed that you are shagging your PA.'

Perhaps in hind sight I should have said that a little quieter. The whole restaurant turns quiet, and turns to stair open eyes at Mycroft. Evidently that's not the kind of thing I should have said in a fancy restaurant.

The bleep of his phone is what breaks the silence, and causes everyone to continue with their meals and conversation.

Mycroft looks at the message and tuts apologetically. 'I do apologize Sherlock, Doctor Watson, but something of grave importance has come up. We will have to re-convene.'

He then stands up and whispers 'That was downright childish of you Sherlock.'

'But true.' Adds John

'Honestly.' Groans Mycroft 'When are you two going to grow up?'

'Scheduled for next Thursday.' Shoots back John.

'Quite.' Replies Mycroft 'Will you be staying here or would you prefer I call a car to return you to your hotel?'

I look in John's direction; he looks practically dead on his feet after what I deduce was a practically sleepless night and such an early start.

'Hotel please.'

**-SHERLOCK-**

When we reach our hotel room, we both make a beeline for the living room area. John collapses into an arm chair, while move to lie on the sofa, removing mu shoes and shirt and wrapping a dressing gown around me as I do so.

'Sherlock, about this morning.' Starts John.

'John you needn't apologize, there was no reason to the first time.'

'That wasn't what I was going to say.'

'Oh. Continue then John.'

'This morning you said 'could I ever return your feelings?' Well, I believe I do feel something for you outside the walls of even the strongest friendship.' He says

My heart positively swells (well it would do if that were possible) But my heart rate defiantly increases.

'What are you saying John?' I ask.

'I believe I would like to try a relationship with you Sherlock Holmes. Im not saying it would be perfect, but I think its well worth tiring.' He replies, as he climbs out of his chair and comes to join me on the sofa. We lie beside each other, tight in each other's embrace, as I place a delicate kiss on the top of his kiss. And that's enough… for now.

**Meanwhile:**

'Do you think sharing with them our relationship will convince them to start a real one of their own?' Asks a woman's voice as she sits on the lap of a man in a suit, playing with his hair.

'Oh I don't dought it. The social networking was a scam, but I have no dought by the look in his eye, that he has feelings for him.

'Come to bed now, you can watch the surveillance tomorrow.' She coos.

'certainly darling. I love you Allison.'

'Call me by my real name.' She begs.

'Quite right. I love you Alexandra.'

**I'm sorry for the brief delay in updates, and I hope this longer chapter makes up for it. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed etc this story, you're all amazing. More reviews, faster and longer updates. Oh and if anyone has anything that they would like me to put into this story, let me know and I'll consider it. Love you all! Lizzie xx**


	5. Chapter 5 The BlackBerrys

The Social Network

Chapter 5- The BlackBerrys

John and I lay together on the sofa for what could have been hours, arms wrapped around each other's waists, and the occasional kiss placed to one of our foreheads. The whole afare was perfectly innocent; no touches below the waist line, and only chase kisses used.

'John, as much as I would love to lie here for the foreseeable future, we have a ball to attend.' I say, as I reluctantly worm my way out of John's grasp.

He nods, and unhooks his arms from around me.

'Your suit has been laid out in your bedroom.' I say, expecting him to move in that direction and am mildly surprised when he shows no intention of doing so.

Without prior warning, he sits up on the sofa and captures his lips with his own, while wrapping one arm around my waist and another dishevelling my hair, causing me to fall into his lap.

When the kiss breaks, I refuse to move away from John, and consequently end up mumbling against John's lips:

'Do that again and we can forget the ball, look what you do to me.' I say, gesturing to the obvious bulge in my trousers. 'What do you say we stay here and I shag you until you have trouble standing upright?'

'There's nothing I'd like better Sherlock, but you said it yourself, meeting your clients and the master blackmailer is essential.'

'I don't want too.' I resort childishly.

'I'll make it work your while.' Coo's John suggestively, while twirling a lock of my hair between his fingers.

'Meaning?' I ask, voice low with what I can only assume is desire.

'When we get back, I'll let you do whatever you want me too.' He whispers.

'Deal.' I announce as I kiss his forehead, stand up and dash in the direction of my bedroom.

Noticing I have 30 minutes until it is necessary to leave, I strip of my clothes; grab one of the towels that are laid on my bed, and head for the bathroom.

I step into the shower, switch on the water, and watch fascinated as the droplets of water cascade over my body and flatten the curls in my hair. I lather my hair in shampoo, then my body in soap, all the while concentrating my mind on only one specific thing. John. John Watson. How much I want him. How much I urge to run my fingers through his hair and kiss him. Nibble at his throat and collar bone, leaving a series of bites, to show everyone that John belongs to me. Mine.

God knows how far that fantasy would've gone if John hadn't shouted at me not to use all the hot water, consequently breaking my trance.

I step out from under the cascading water and begin to towel myself dry, rubbing the towel thrice through my hair in an effort to red it of the water droplets stubbornly clinging to my locks.

What happened next could have come from any old corny TV show or trashy 'romance' novel. Our lives are turning into a fucking sitcom. A very naked, with a towel draped over his right arm John barges into the bathroom.

'I uh… sorry, I thought you were out of there… the uh… door wasn't locked.' Says an obviously embarresd John. Apparently the fact that he essentially offered me sex doesn't make the whole me seeing him naked thing any lass awkward.

'I forgot.' I reply. Or did I? I'm a consulting detective for god's sake! With an IQ of 190! Surely I could have remembered to lock a door in a hotel bathroom? Apparently then, my subconscious wishes to see John naked. Not that that would be a particular hardship.

John seemingly notices my prolonged stare and says:

'Are you checking me out Holmes?'

'And if I am?'

'In any other situation and time scale I'd invite you to continue, but we simply haven't the time Sherlock.'

'Spoil sport.'

'Indeed.'

Grumbling, I return to my room, tug on the trousers, socks, shirt and jacket that were tired on earlier today, then slip the un-done bow tie around my neck then under the collar but despite several fruitless attempts, I am unable to tie it correctly.

10 minutes or there abouts later, John appears dressed at my door.

'Ready to leave Sherlock?'

'As soon as I work out how to tie this blasted thing.' I grumble.

'Here, let me help?' He offers.

I nod and he moves towards me and reaches for the piece of offending material. Three times his hand touches my neck while he ties it, ad each time it causes a spark of electricity to run through me.

'There. Done.' He says, and it's only then that I notice that my eyes were closed and breathing laboured for the duration.

'Thank you John.'

'The ball awaits.'

**-SHERLOCK-**

'Names?' Askes the burly looking security guard at the bottom of a flight of stairs that I can only assume leads to the ball.

'Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson.'

'Ah yes.' He says as he scans the list for our names 'Go right ahead gentlemen.'

'Will Mycroft be at the ball?' He inquires.

'Yes, I believe so.'

'In that case, surely it's only right that I once again act as your boyfriend.'

'Yes, I suppose if we weren't to do so it would seem suspicious if we didn't.' I say, unable to supress a smile.

'In that case, may I take your arm Mr Holmes?'

'Certainly Doctor Watson.'

John and I link arms, head up the stairs and head through the door to the ball.

Immediately I notice our clients: Mr and Mrs away, their daughter Alicia, her fiancé and his family.

Mr Sway is dressed in an expensive looking suit and white tie, with slick black hair laced with a few grey strands.

**Deductions:**

**Let's see…**

**Aged 61, smoker, social drinker, owns two… no three cats, large house with 7 bedrooms, 4 of which are un-occupied. Married 20+ years, one daughter aged 24, one step daughter in her thirty's no religion.**

And Mrs Sway. Deep green fitted dress, flared out over the hips and finishing at her ankles. Strawberry blonde (yet obviously died) curled shoulder length hair.

**Deductions:**

**Right… aged 52, non-smoker, teetotal, married twice divorced once, two daughters, Alicia and Jennifer (if the internet is to be believed) married… happily 20+ years.**

Daughter. Natural dark blonde wavy hair, knee length red dress, high cut and modest (fiancé's religion) and moderately high red heals.

**Deductions:**

**Non-smoker, social red wine drinker, anxious about current situation, owns a dog, not happy about fiancé's religion, doesn't see the photo's as particularly bad but understands the damage they could cause. Loves fiancé.**

I take a tighter hold of John's arm and usher him in the direction of the family.

Luckily, by the time we've battled our way through the crowd, the two families have separated to talk to other people. Thank god for that. If the Morrison's caught the Sway's talking to a consulting detective, the game would be over before it had begun.

'Mr, Mrs and Miss Sway, I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend and college, Doctor John Watson. I believe you require my assistance with a dilemma you are facing?'

'Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson' Says Mrs Sway 'Thank you so much for fling to Spain on such short notice. Any help you can offer will be greatly appreciated.'

'Not at all Mrs Sway, perhaps we could go outside and discuss this matter?'

'Of course Mr Holmes. Not to be rude, but I am obliged to inquire, as you must be aware this matter is of the upmost delicacy to our family, can you assure me of your partner Doctor Watson's discretion?' Asks the husband.

'I would trust Doctor Watson with my life. I assure him.

'In that case, we too will trust him.'

The five of us leave the room and walk into the small adjoining bar.

Half an hour and far too many orange juices later, John and I emerge from the bar, having gained all relevant information on our case. Unforchanatly Mr Edmund doesn't show up at the ball, meaning John and I will have to track him down tomorrow.

Mycroft, along with his PA approached us hand in hand several times during the evening, and they question John and I separately twice.

By 11 O'clock, John and I have finished questioning and being questioned, and we sit on the side lines while people (primarily couples) dance in the centre of the room.

John has been glancing at me on and off for the last twenty minutes, each time allowing our eyes to meet for just a few seconds before looking away.

Evidently he wants something. But what? Oh. The dancing.

Sherlock Holmes doesn't dance.

But then John looks at me with those huge brown eyes and stairs intently at me.

Apparently I am prepared to make an exception for John Hamish Watson.

'Doctor Watson, would you care to dance?' I say as I stand up and offer John mu hand.

'Certainly Mr Holmes.'

Together we move around the dance floor, hands placed on each other's waist and shoulders. We keep our bodies close together, and I find John practically pressed against me as we dance. As I am the taller of the two of us, I lead, moving around the floor in and out of other couples and occasionally bobbing up and down. Throughout the dance, we keep our eyes locked together, never once averting our eyes from each other. Towards the end of the dance, we move to the edge of the floor, and John's head begins moving towards mine.

The whole thing seems to be going too slowly for me, so I resolve the situation by grapping Johns head, pressing it towards mine, and covering his lips with a hungry, passionate kiss. John responds immediately, reasonably surprising after how against this John was originally. I can't help but consider.

'Stop thinking, it'd distracting.' John whispers against my lips.

'I believe that's my line.' I reply, and press back into John to continue the kiss.

His mouth is so warm on mine, the caress of his lips softer than I could ever have imagined. John begins running his tongue against my mouth, and I quickly respond by opening my mouth, moaning when John forces his tongue into my mouth.

The whole situation gets more heated as my Johns hands being pressing against my torso, and delving inside his shirt.

'John' I whisper reluctantly. 'Not here.'

'In that case, what do you say we go back to the hotel?' He asks seductively.

'Brilliant John.' I reply.

When John and I finally move apart, we grasp hands, and are about to leave the ball, when Mycroft and 'Anthea' approach us. Typical.

'Thinking of leaving without saying goodbye dear brother?' He asks.

'Yep, that was the plan.' I reply.

'Oh Sherlock, I live in hope that one day you will finally grow up.'

'It's highly unlikely' says John.

'Quite. Anyhow, if you're planning on leaving, at least let me have a car take you home.'

'Fine.' I resort.

'Anthea honey, could you organize a car for my brother and the doctor?' He asks his PA

'Of course Sir.' She says as she begins typing un-naturally fast on her BlackBerry.

'Oh and John, I have had reports that a large number of texts have been sent to your phone from a Mary Morstan.'

Oh dear god no, I can just see where this is going…

'Apparently you broke up with her via a social network and she isn't best pleased.'

Johns face turns white 'what? Oh god Sherlock! Did you hack into my facebook page? You know what, forget it. Is there a phone around her I could use Mycroft?

Trust 'Anthea' to choose today to be compassionate. She reaches into her purse and fishes out another Blackberry, which she hands to John. Does the woman have an unlimited supply of the things? Did she win a competition for 'A life time supply of BlackBerry smart phones?'

John thanks 'Anthea', bids goodbye to Mycroft and seems completely unaware of my presence. Brilliant. So now my almost boyfriend hates me. What a perfect end to a perfect day.

'Oh brother what have you done?' I growl in Mycroft's direction.

**Authors note:**

**Randomdancingmatryoshka:**** Thank you so much for your offer to beta- read this fanfiction. Please know that I am still interested in your offer to beta read, but I was in a rush to post this chapter. Forgive me; I can be very impatient sometimes.**

**Gaby Clow: **** I learnt Spanish for a year a while ago, and I seem to have forgotten everything. There's only so much I can do with Google translate. If anything else in the story needs translating and you are willing, I would be very grateful. Thanks!**

**To everyone else: **

**Thank you once again to everyone who has reviewed etc this story, it honestly does mean a lot to me. Continue to keep them coming, and I will continue to update as quickly as I can!**

**Also, if you're anything like me and hate things that don't end happily, don't worry, the boys will be back in each other's arms before you know it! – Lizzie xx**


	6. Chapter 6 The daily schedule

**Note: (To UK residents) the second episode in the second series of Sherlock airs tonight at 8.30. Who's exited?**

The social Network

Chapter 6- The daily schedule

'Don't look so forlorn Sherlock.' Says Mycroft in that revoltingly patronising voice that people tend to reserve for children under ten. 'I just speed up the inevitable. Surely you couldn't be so naïve to think that he would never find out?'

'You had no right.' I snarl.

'On the contrary brother, I had every right. John is a good man. I won't have you hurt him.'

'For fucks sake Mycroft, he ran out of the room, practically in tears. I think that counts as upset, don't you?' I cry out. Surely my brother cannot be that dense?

'Indeed. But for the greater good. Imagine if things had gone further between you, then he found out. Surely you can see that would make things far worse?' He points out.

'Well, John isn't entirely innocent. As far as John knew, he hadn't broken up with his Mary woman. Therefore by kissing me, he must surely have thought he was cheating on her?' I add.

'For heaven's sake Sherlock! Think! Use that oversized brain of your and figure it out!' Yells Mycroft, most un-characteristically.

Then it hits me. The obvious. I should have known. But I didn't observe. I assumed. What is wrong with me?

'John's… not dating Mary Morstan?' I croak out.

'Nope. Never was. Did you really think that John Watson is the type of man to cheat on a woman?' Concludes Mycroft. He always does this when I fail to deduce something. Luckily, it doesn't happen often.

'No… but… Why? Why pretend to be in a relationship?'

'I believe that John needs to tell you that himself.' Says Mycroft with an evil grin plastered on his face.

'Mycroft! You have to tell me!' I whine.

'Ah the mystery of John Watson. The one man you will never be able to fully deduce.' He adds smugly.

'But…'

I start, yet that sentence is never finished. John walks back into the ball at that moment, face still white and looking extremely flustered and frustrated.

'Thanks for the phone…' He says, extending his arm to hand it back to her.

'Anthea.' She adds. Ah the mystery of the PA who feels the need to change her birth name every day. 'But keep the phone. You might need it to contact Miss Morstan.'

'No, I couldn't.' He protests.

'I insist.' Adds the allusive 'Anthea'.

'At least let me give it back to you when I find my own phone?'

'Fine.' She replies, looking thoroughly bored by the whole situation.

'Will you be returning to the hotel tonight?' I ask John once his conversation is over.

'To collect my things.' He answers coldly.

'John, please… I didn't…' I stutter, before John interrupts me with:

'No. Don't even try Sherlock. I am not in the mood to talk to anyone right now, let alone you.'

'Will you still be requiring a lift back to the hotel?' Asks Mycroft.

'Yes. Thank you.' He says.

**-SHERLOCK-**

We ride back to the hotel in one of Mycroft's black cars, with John and I seated as far to the opposite sides of the seat as possible.

Throughout the twenty minuet ride, not a word is uttered between us, until we reach a street five minutes from the hotel, where I finally attempt to break the ice between us.

John appears to be staring aimlessly out of the window, and it takes me uttering his name three times before he even acknowledges my existence.

'John, can we talk?' I plead.

'I'm prepared to listen.' He replies frostily.

'John, I apologize for jacking into your social network, I had no idea it would cause such… repercussions.'

'For the record Sherlock, I am not, nor ever was I a relationship with Mary Morstan.' He states.

'Then why?' I ask, shamefully unable to piece together the facts while there are so many other things running through my head. Mostly involving John to a certain extent. However, I do have 10 possible plausible reasons for John's action.

'Mary's mother…' Starts John

Ok, six possible outcomes.

'Was always setting Mary up on dates…'

Now I see where this is going.

'Mary's a lesbian and she hasn't told her mother. You therefore agreed to enter into a fake relationship with her to keep her mother happy until she has the courage to come out?' I intervene.

'Perfect Sherlock.' He says, but without truly meaning it. Not like the first time I deduced about his sisters alcoholism or our first case together. The praise is half hearted.

'But why?' I pester. Why would someone want to appear of the market for no obvious benefit to one's self?'

'For god's sake Sherlock, she's a friend! That's what people do! Help friends when they require it!' He cries out.

Ok. So apparently that was a bit not good.

'But then you go and mess it up. Because of some ridiculous jealousy vibe!'

'I was not jealous!' I insist.

'So what happened Sherlock? Why did you need to break up with a woman that you assumed was my girlfriend via facebook?'

'Because I don't like it when you run of with women! Every date you go on you're one step closer to leaving me and getting married, having three kids and a cat!' I yell, handing John my deepest thoughts on a platter.

The car stops at that moment, John turns to me and says 'Sherlock. I can't do this. We'll talk in the morning.'

'Very well.' I reply

John then nods in my direction, thanks the driver and makes his way into the hotel with me following in suit.

Separately, we depart into our individual bedroom, each of us softly closing our doors behind us.

After stripping and re-dressing in pyjamas and a dressing gown, I launch myself onto my bed, and place my hands together, with my hands under my chin.

I need nicotine patches. Three should suffice. Jumping of my bed, I dive into my case, locate the patches, and place three of the flesh coloured beauties onto my left forearm. Cigarettes would be more effective, but it's impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London. Why would Spain be any different?

A moment later, I feel the nicotine begin to work through my veins and take effect on my body.

Quite a three patch problem.

After everything that's happened today, I feel a familiar urge to murder Mycroft, thought I suppose that could be considered psychopathic. Not that anyone would suspect me. I'm a fucking genius; his body would never be identified.

No, I suppose that's a bit drastic. John wouldn't approve.

So I settle for the next best thing. Changing the password on both Mycroft and Anthea's computers, and sending a subscription for fifty porn magazines to his office.

I didn't sleep that night, and am therefor fully awake as someone (hopefully John) knocks on my door early this morning.

'Sherlock?' Calls out John hesitantly.

'John! Come in!' I say, hardly able to contain the delight I feel that John's prepared to talk to me.

'Can I speak to you?' He asks.

'Of course.' I reply, gesturing to a chair in my room.

John shakes his head and remains in the doorway and says: 'Sherlock… I'm going back to London. I need to make things up with Mary. I'm leaving in a couple of hours. I'll see you back at Baker Street once your case is over.' He says.

'What? No! John, please stay!' I plead.

'Sherlock, my minds made up.' He says.

'The case. I require your assistance.' I beg.

'No you don't. You're more than capable of solving it yourself.'

Alright, so that might be true, but it doesn't mean I don't **want **John's assistance.

'But I want you to stay.' I whine, while attempting to reiterate my point.

'Tough, you should have thought of that before you upset me.' Says John.

'But John…' I cry

'Goodbye Sherlock.' He says, as he moves to leave the room.

Realising that persuading John will be fruitless, especially in his current mood. So I settle for observing his movements for the next two hours.

Throughout the time, I continue to observe John, yet I see nothing more interesting than him packing up clothes, and deduce nothing more thrilling than the fact that he really does plan to leave.

And that's exactly what he does. He leaves. Leaves me, the hotel, the clients (not that he really had an obligation to them) and as far as I know, Spain all together.

No amount of persuasion can make him change his mind. I've tried everything: threats, blackmail, bribery and even begging. Nothing proved effective.

I suppose I have to face facts. Innless…

**-SHERLOCK-**

This morning, I received a text from Sherlock. The fact that he contacted me in the first place was surprising enough, but the contents of the text were a minor miracle.

'Mycroft. I require your assistance. John has decided to leave Spain. No amount of persuasion on my part has proven effective. Your help would be appreciated. – SH'

I laugh quietly to myself when I think of how much effort of it must have cost my brother, to ask for assistance on any matter, let alone John Watson.

Still. When have I ever let my brother down?

'Maria!' I call to my personal assistant/ lover.

'Yes sir?' She says, appearing out of nowhere into my office.

'Maria, what do I have scheduled for today?' I inquire.

Immediately she springs into action, takes out her phone and begins working though my calendar for today.

'Meeting with the Spanish prime minister from 12-2, consultation with your dietician at 4, and a dentist's appointment at 20 past 5' she recites speedily.

'Ok good. Can you schedule in a kidnapping of Doctor Watson at half past two?' I ask.

'Of course.' She replies 'Scheduled in for a meeting with Doctor John Watson for half past two.'

'Thank you darling.' I say sweetly.

'Not a problem.' She replies, kissing my lips swiftly.

Two o'clock came, and as arranged Maria and John appear at a warehouse an associate of mine owns, that is reserved for interrogations. Not that this is an interrogation. Just a friendly chat.

'Oh joy. Kidnapped again. You know you could call me and meet in a café if you didn't have this bloody surge for authority.' He moans, more frustrated than angry. 'I've got a plane to catch.'

'I am well aware of that Doctor Watson. Fear not, I have contacts inside the airlines, if you still wish to go back to England by the end of this little chat, I will make it happen.' I say.

'Fine. What's this about?' he relents.

'Sherlock Holmes. And your relations with him.'

'There's nothing between us. Sherlock destroyed anything that may have happened. He is just my flatmate. States John as he begins to pace the room he finds himself confined into.

'But you don't threaten to leave Baker Street. How odd.' I observe.

'Yeah well, where would I go?' points out John.

'If you are prepared to live with Sherlock in a matter of weeks, what is your aversion to staying in Spain?' I inquire.

'I need to talk to Mary.'

'Mary Morstan has been contacted and informed of all recent happenings. Her mother is still under the impression Mary is in a relationship and Mary holds nothing against you. Therefore you have no reason to depart.' I add.

'It's not that simple. Sherlock he…'

'Betrayed your trust?' I finish 'Well it wouldn't be the first time. As I understand it you practically share mobiles and computers, why should Sherlock hacking into a social networking account be a big thing, especially since no lasting consequences have come from it.'

'Maybe that was the final straw. Maybe I can't take it anymore.' He says. He's clutching at straws now.

'Please John. You're the first flatmate Sherlock's had that has spent more than 4 months with him before leaving. If you were going to leave you would have done so by now.'

'He could never recipicate my feelings for him!' Blurts out John, who begins to look sheepish the moment the words leave his mouth.

'What makes you think that? He kissed you did he not?' I ask now intrigued.

'He's married to his work for god's sake! John yells.

'I see. This has very little to do with Mary, or the social network. You just want to get out before Sherlock can use you then dump you back where you started. A cripple with no purpose. Well John I assure you, that will not happen. Yes Sherlock is married to his work. But you are his work. Evidently any reassurance given by my brother has done little to make you feel secure. Just remember this. Sherlock Holmes is a great man. Under your influence Doctor, he becomes a good one.'

John appears stumped for words after my little speech, and appears unable to come out with an answer.

Once he has regained his emotions, I have Maria take him back to the car, and place a microphone inside it, so I hear everything that is said.

I have done my best. Informed John of all the reasons why he should stay, and all the reasons why he shouldn't return home.

Now it's up to John. He has to make up his own mind.

'Where would you like to go?' I hear Maria ask him

'Back to Sherlock Holmes.' Is his response.

**Author's note:**

**Hey, once again thank you to everyone who's reviewed/ alerted/ faverouted this story. I'm back at school tomorrow, so updates will most likely be less regular. So I'm going to need extra encouragement to write faster. Sherlock/John Is next on the engender!**


	7. Chapter 7 The gift from mummy

**Warning: This chapter contains smut, slash, sex whatever you want to call it. I don't consider it overly explicit, not considering some other fanfic's, but if it's not your thing, skip this chapter. **

The Social Network

Part 7- The gift from mummy

The Sway's contacted me. Asked if we (Myself and John) had found anything that could help on the case of the master blackmailer. I was reluctant to say anything, without John by my side.

The evidence suggests that he will come back. No dought Mycroft's spoken to him. Probably offered him a bribe again. I wonder how much it was this time. Totally unnecessary. If John wishes to leave then I have no power in which to stop him with.

Why did he have to go? Surely hacking into facebook wasn't that big a deal. Apparently that was the last straw for John. That paired with my attitude during boredom and the general lack of milk in the flat must have scared him of.

Anyway, I don't need him. I am Sherlock Holmes. I'm brilliant alone.

I need a distraction. The case, the master Blackmailer as John so cunningly branded it.

The first step must be contacting the man himself, Mr Edmund. His son will provide the entrance into the problem. I dought that the father will listen. And why would he? Innless the Sways hand over the money, he will never be satisfied.

Of course. The son! Jack Edmund.

I launch myself of my bed and instinctively dash for the laptop nearest to me. Once I locate it, I leap back onto the bed and turn on the laptop. It's Johns. So maybe he'll come back for it… Though the chances of that happening are ridiculously improbable, considering that his flight should have taken of an hour and 12 minutes ago.

Forget about John! You can solve this yourself.

Once the laptop has turned on, I load Google, and type 'Jack Edmund' into the search bar. 23,700,000 results. Right. To narrow it down.

I delve into the cabinet next to my bed and dig out the case files and a picture of Jack Edmund. The case files that John organized on the plane ride.

Let's see…

**Deductions:**

**Male, 20 years of age, reasonably well of, wearing a football shirt but there's a calculus book beside him- pushy father forcing him to partake in sports.**

**He's well of but not overly so, as shown by the tailored jacket yet the second rate university in the background, and the fathers wish for only 100,000 euro's. A rich man would have asked for more, but he considers this amount to be a fortune. **

**Interested in maths, as shown by the books and his hand. Equations written on his hands, hurriedly scrubbed of, ink remains.**

**His father would have wanted him to go to a sports college, but he would never have got in, he has no natural flair for sports as shown by his right knee. So he likely studied maths.**

**To take such pictures of Alicia, he must have prior experience; therefore he is no dought a sociable man, with a history of girlfriends.**

**But maths is a subject partaken by one's self, so I deduce that he works alone and socialises after hours, which makes scence, as a woman rarely allows pictures to be taken of herself by someone she works with, risk of them being passed around the office if something went wrong with the relationship. They didn't work together, they met in a bar or club.**

**His father's second choice for his son would no dought have been business once he failed at sports, so paired with his numerical fascination and economic background, I deduce a job in the financial sector.**

I then Google 'Jack Edmund, financial sector' which brings up considerably less results. The top one being 'Browning's money management… employee of the month January 2012…. Jack Edmund.

It even comes equipped with a company address and telephone number. How convenient. Admittedly I could have found out that same information by simply asking the Sways, but finding things out alone is always much more interesting. John's right. Genius does require an audience. Annoyingly, my audience is currently on a plane thousands of miles away. It's not the same without John's whispered admiration of 'Brilliant' or 'that's fantastic!'

Though I can hardly go out dressed like this. People have been calling out to me on the street ever since I arrived, and the maid's asked for my autograph. John's blog has gone international, along with that ridiculous picture of me wearing the dear stalker hat. No, to move around unseen in this city I'll need a new look. A Disguise if you like. Now, I'll need something completely different from the 'Sherlock' look. No long coat with turned up collar and blue scarf with dark curly hair. It must be believable, but I cannot look remotely similar.

43 minutes I emerge looking like a very different person. Green always was a good colour on me. Who knew female clothing, fake breasts, a wig and makeup could make such a transformation.

I've adorned a pair of long white slacks, a white shirt and green vest pullover thing. I have on a bra padded with tissue to give the effect of breasts and am wearing flat (I tried heals but I couldn't walk naturally, not that that would make me particularly stand out) green pumps with little bows. On my head I have a wavy brown wig, which falls a little past my shoulders which is completed by a block green headband and green clip on earrings. My face took the longest to perfect, it was quite a challenge to make me look lady like, though my cheek bones helped a little. First I shaved, making sure to remove all traces of stubble from my face. Next I coated my face in something called 'foundation', which the bottle promised would give a natural effect, put some gloopy black 'mascara' on my eye lashes (the bottle promised to add 60% volume, it did not) and added a pink coulor lip stick to my lips. Who knew a birthday present from mummy could be so useful. Still, I'm a little unsure of what she was implying by it.

My name is Rebecca Cameron, I am 33 and I have a 9 year old son named Harry. My husband and I divorced 6 months ago, and he hasn't payed a penny of child support since. I work full time as a history teacher, yet am very short of money and need the money my ex-husband owes me. Therefore I am recruiting Browning's money management to help me. Always pays to know your character.

I dash around my bedroom madly, until I locate the green bag which matches the pullover. I toss in my phone, lipstick and all other essentials into my bag, and dash out of the hotel, after asking the confused looking manager to hail a taxi for me.

'Where too miss?' he asks me as I climb inside the taxi, and place my bag on the seat next to me. I must say, I'm impressed this man can speak English.

'27 Elbridge road.' I answer in my best female acsent.

'Sure.'

**-SHERLOCK-**

'How may I assist you Miss?' Inquires the man behind the desk at Browning's money management.

'Uh yes. I have a small financial situation and a friend recommended this business and a Mr Jack Edmund. May I speak to him?' I simper sweetly.

'I'll see if he is available for a consultation Miss.' He almost purrs. Dear god the man's flirting with me. 'In the meantime, can I get you a drink?'

'Yes, that would be lovely thank you.' I say, while running my fingers through my hair in what I'm told is a seductive gesture. Perhaps he'll be more inclined to help me if he fancies me.

Half an hour later, I'm seated in a small, sparsely decorated room, with the walls lined with box files, marked with ex and current clients names and dates.

'So Miss Cameron. How may I be of assistance to you?' Asks the younger Edmund, as he scrawls in a red striped note book in front of him.

'I require your assistance with a matter involving child support payments. But first, I have a rather more pressing issue to discus with you.' I say, batting my eye lashes at the younger man.

'It would be my pleasure Miss Cameron. What do you wish to discuss?' He asks.

'I have been employed by Mr and Mrs Sway, to obtain compromising photos of yourself and Alicia Sway, which your father is using to blackmail 100 thousand euros from the Sways. You had a relationship with this woman, so you felt something for her once. Do you want to see her get hurt?' I inquire. Well, it's worth a try.

'Who are you?' He gasps.

'I am Sherlock Holmes.' I answer.

'The detective in the funny hat?'

'Indeed.' I respond through gritted teeth. Dam that hat. It seems I shall be remembered for the dear stalker instead of my deductive reasoning. I can see it now, after my death, the great Sherlock Holmes portrayed in a dear stalker and pipe by some second rate actor named Basil, Jeremy, Robert or Benedict.

'Im afraid I can't help you Mr Holmes. It's my dad's business; he doesn't talk to me about his work.' He says while stubbornly crossing his arms. 'Anyway, why are you dressed as a woman, and where's your side kick?' He leers.

'You would hardly have agreed to speak with a detective named Sherlock Holmes, and** Doctor **Watson' I say, emphasising John's importance 'is currently otherwise occupied.'

'Sure. Whatever. What do you want Holmes?' He asks, a hint of aggression entering his persona.

'The Sway's are not a rich family. Do you know if your father will accept a smaller amount of money, given their current circumstances?' I insist.

'That I do know Mr Holmes. He won't accept a penny less than the amount stated.' Reports Edmund.

'Fine. As you wish. Will your father be attending Miss Sway and Lord Morrison's engagement party?' I happen to mention.

'Yes I believe so. He mentioned something about attending. He also exclaimed his intention that if the required money isn't payed by Tuesday, there will be no wedding on Wednesday.' He sneers.

'Excellent. I may see him there. Thank you for your time Mr Edmund' I acknowledge.

He nods in my direction then the door way, so I gather my belongings and leave the room.

'How did your meeting go Miss Cameron?' Asks the blonde man at reception.

'Most satisfactory thank you.' I reassure him.

As I leave the building and make to walk back to the hotel, my brain begins to race. It would seem that being reasonable is out of the question. Therefore it would seem that playing dirty is now necessary. I gather that I need to find something incriminating on Edmund and use it to blackmail him back.

As I walk along the busy pathment, I am so engrossed in the problem I am working on; I almost miss the short man who practically walks into me.

'Oh, sorry miss.' He mumbles. It's only then that I notice who the man actually is.

'John?' I exclaim in joy.

'Fucking hell Sherlock, is that you? He cries out. 'Why are you dressed as a woman?'

'You came back.' I whimper, throwing my arms around the smaller man's body and drawing him close to me, consequently annoying the other people by blocking the pathment.'

'Course I did. How could I not? So, the costume. It's for the case right?' He asks.

'The mater blackmailer.' I confirm, to which John looks relieved.

'Care to accompany me back to the hotel? Could be dangerous.' I tempt.

'Oh god yes.' He responds.

-**SHERLOCK-**

When we reach the hotel once again, everything becomes a tad more acward between us, as the events of the pervious few days are remembered by both, yet the sexual tension between us could be cut by a knife if you'll excuse the pun.

'We need to talk.' I say, stating the obvious.

'Yes, we do Sherlock.' Agrees John. 'But it doesn't have to be right now, how do you feel about the statement an action paints a thousand words?' He adds suggestively.

'I believe it's a picture paints a thousand words.' I correct.

'Fine by me. We could create a picture.' John whispers huskily as he moves closer towards me, invading my personal space.

'That could work.' I reply as I move my head closer to John's at the same moment he moves his head, causing our lips to meet and collide together.

The acwardness is gone the second our lips meet, and everything becomes more heated as John abandons my lips and begins to suck at my neck and collar bone, causing a moan to emit from my lips.

Eger to match John's place and feel the skin he so often covers with un-flattering clothes, I break the contact between us to tug the brown soft jumper John frequently adorns over his head and begin to unbutton my shirt, an action which he recipicates by tugging the green vest over my head, unbuttoning the shirt and unhooking the bra from behind my back, all with amazing haste.

He then kisses my lips briefly again before standing and moving towards the bathroom.

'Where are you going?' I ask self-consciously.

A moment or so later, he returns with a white flannel wet with warm water and a towel. Oh right. The makeup.

'I want to see you Sherlock.' He whispers 'I want to see your facial expressions as you squirm and shout my name. And I'd rather you weren't covered in smudged makeup when you do.'

A moment or so later, all traces of makeup are removed from my face. But John doesn't stop there; he drags the wash cloth down my torso, dragging it softly over my nipples until they turn to pebbles in his hands. Next my trousers and restrictive underwear are removed, leaving me naked and vulnerable beneath me.

With the sensation of the cloth doing unspeakable things to my body, I am barley capable of putting together a coherent sentence, but manage to squeak out 'I… want you naked… on top of me.'

'Thought you'd never ask.' He replies as he sits up and removes is trousers and surprises me with his apparent lack of underwear.

He apparently notices my amused expression and adds 'What can I say, I was in a rush.' Before his lips once again attack mine. However, the kiss doesn't last, as once again, before long, John is back slinking down my body, this time he leaves the washcloth and pays special attention to my lower abdomen and pelvic reign, yet never touching the one place I want him too.

'Please…' I manage to croak out.

'Please what Sherlock?' He teases, evil glint in his eyes.

'Just touch me! Please!' I cry in frustration.

'With pleasure.' He replies, smirking.

He begins with liking the very end of my penis, seemingly gaging my reactions, and watching with fascination as my hips buck towards his mouth.

Then, without warning, he takes my entire length into my mouth, stopping briefly to stop his gag reflex, then begins running his tounge down it, and sucking in his cheeks, making me moan in pleasure.

I don't last long. The pleasure is too intense. I manage 38 decimal places of PI before I give in to the sensation and orgasm.

I lie spent on the bed for a little while, content with John tracing shapes onto my back before I remember John too will require release.

'John, are these actions usually recipicated?' I inquire.

'Usually.' He admits 'But please don't feel any pressure to do so, im perfectly content as I am.'

'What if I want to?' I ask, filled with lust at the sight of john's body against mine.

'Go right ahead.' He replies.

'I shall.' I respond before I launch into another passionate kiss and prepare to make John moan my name.

'God I love you.'

**Author's note: hello wonderful people! As usual thank you to all the brilliant people who reviewed this story, you are all so amazing, invisible virtual Sherlock's coming your way!**

**Just to say that this is my first time writing anything like this, im not entirely sure if I'm happy with it, so seriously, if you want to see anything else like this and/or regular updates, reviews/ faverouts/ alerts please!**

**I would also like to specially thank 'Iamasherlockian', your review really brightened up my day, thank you!**

**Thank you people and fellow Sherlock addicts – Lizzie xx**


	8. Chapter 8 The text messages

The Social Network

Chapter 8- The text messages.

'John. John.' I say, shaking the sleeping body of the man beside me while attempting to free myself from his clutches. His left leg is thrown across both of my legs, and his arms are wrapped tightly around my torso. It would seem that sleeping John is far more possessive than waking John. Though strictly speaking that hasn't been proven. Perhaps an experiment is in order.

'John wake up! Things to do, people to see.' I moan, bored of whispering. He'll have to wake up sooner or later. Why not now? He's had three hours of rest. It's 6 o'clock pm. We have a case to solve. And if he expects to be done before tomorrow we must move!

'Urgh, Sherlock go back to sleep.' He mummers into my chest, refusing to lift his head in order to speak properly or untangle his limbs from mine.

'Come along John. The Sway's won't be able to lie about their daughter being a virgin without us! We must retrieve the photographs.' I exclaim, eyes lighting up with the prospect of a case.

John rolls his eyes before replying: 'Honestly Sherlock, needs must I suppose. But should I agree to come with you, promise me that we shall end up in this bed together, doing unspeakable things to each other before the day is out?' He says desire evident in his eyes.

If only I hadn't a duty to the Sways, I would gladly have stayed in bed with this marvellous man and screw him senseless. But alas. Duty calls.

'You have my word Doctor.' I reply, as I move forward and kiss John's lips quickly and chasley. Any longer and I dought we would ever move out of this delightful bed. It really should come back to Baker Street. The first bed John and I were intimate in. I wonder if the hotel would allow it. If not, I shall have to consult Mycroft.

I gage John's reactions perfectly, kissing him for the briefest of moments so he couldn't respond, yet allowing the warmth of the embrace to flow through both of us.

I then untangle myself from John's embrace, and I must say with great restraint on my behalf, leap out of the bed.

'Please tell me you aren't planning on wearing that ridiculous female costume again.' Begs John, while lying rather proactively on the bed, with a sheet covering one of his legs from the waist down, hanging dangerously low on the hips.

'No, worry not John, that was simply a one-time affair. Innless you wish for me to do so?' I add seductively.

Really Sherlock this is hardly the time.

'Let's try actually having intercourse before we add kinks.' John laughs.

'As you wish. The Sway's engagement party is tomorrow evening I do believe, we have much to do before this.' I state.

'Such as?' Inquires John as he climbs out of the bed and begins to dress.

'We must first gather evidence of any prior attempts Mr Edmund has made at blackmail. I very much dought the Sway's are his first victims.' I advise.

'I thought that Edmund wished to blackmail Alicia because she dated and broke up with his son?' Asks John, looking adorable with his hair ruffled from the jumper he has just slipped on.

'Very observant of you John. I believe that Edmund does indeed choose only issues close to his heart. But I have observed that the son certainly has prior experience with women, therefore there's nothing to say that something along these lines hasn't happened before. However, Edmund also has a daughter. Aged 18 named Rebecca-Jayne. I believe that it is far more likely that something has happened with her. Could you do me a favour John?' I ask, almost certain of his response.

'Certainly.'

'Marvellous. If you would be so kind as too search the internet for Mr Edmund, his son and daughter. Text me if you find anything.' I speak.

'Where are you going Sherlock?' Observes John.

'Oh, here and there. Time to speak to the Sway's again I believe.' I Say, frantically mashing the buttons of my mobile to cease the text tone, before John asks who it is.

Waste of time. There's no way he didn't hear that. Sighing, I remove my phone from my pocket and glance at the text.

Not good. Not good at all. Worse than not good. Disastrous. But deadly fun all the same. The continuation. The great game

**18:09**

**Message received from: 07599950556**

'**Tick tock goes the clock, the photos are going to mock her.**

**Tick tock goes the clock, till Sherlock loses his Doctor.**

'Who's it from Sherlock?' Asks John curiously.

'Oh this…. Uh Mycroft.' I stutter. John cannot know about this under any circumstances. He'd only worry. Then I'd worry about John worrying and he'd end up risking his life to save me. Again. If he was willing to do so weeks after he met me, what's he going to be like now we're…. what's the term…. Boyfriends? Lovers? Friends with benefits? God knows.

'Oh right. What does he want?' Says John, before a look of horror passes over his face 'Please god tell me he hasn't bugged the room?'

'No John, I took care of that. It won't be anything of importance. It will be the usual government drivel. No, you would be much more useful staying here and researching our blackmailer.' I respond, as I finish dressing (minus the coat and scarf). I then take out my phone and compose a reply to the earlier message.

**18:12**

**Reply to text message**

'**If you so much as lay one finger on him… Meet me. St Albert's Street. 20 minutes.'**

'Right, I'll be off. I advise you to stay here John, and… don't answer the door to anyone. Or go near the windows. There's no telling who Edmund may have in his power.' Yes that and the fact that my arch nemesis no dought wants you dead…. I add to myself.

'Sherlock are you alright?' Says John, looking at me, with a confused and worried look etched on his sweet little face… sweet? Really not the time for that Sherlock.

'Perfectly. Must be of. So long John.' I say, leaning onto the bed where John sits and capture his lips with my own.

No time for romantic gestures. I nod in John's direction and dash in the direction of the door.

**-SHERLOCK-**

St Albert's street. As agreed. He didn't disappoint. He's here right on time.

'Ah Sherlock.' He drawls 'What a pleasant surprise.'

'This is the follow up to the pool incident I take it?' I inquire

'Naturally. I left in such a rush. It would have been rude of me not to drop in and say hello especially since I'm in the neighbourhood.' He says. 'Please, accompany me to somewhere a little more comftable. I have a lovely little place just down the road.'

I nod, and 5 minutes or so later we arrive in his 'cosy little place'. The place is anything but 'cosy'. Two chairs that bear a striking resemblance to the James Bond movie (John made me watch it, I had it figured out in 5 minutes), some kid of rack hanging from the ceiling with2 sets of handcuff's attached, two chairs tied together and a CD player is all that is in the room.

'Please. Take a seat?' He offers.

I hear a noise. Two men. Arguing. One's hear against his will, his cries are muffled by some kind of gag, a piece of cloth

John…

When the two men come into view, **he **pins me to one chair, and the other man throws John onto the other. Within minutes we are both bound and unable to move.

But something (apart from the obvious) is wrong. Neither of us fought back. Neither the solider/doctor (who killed people on bad days) nor the genius consulting detective made one mark on our captors.

We've been drugged… Morphine… very sleepy…

**-Sherlock-**

'Ah I see you're awake. Good oh. Pretty boring talking to myself. Let's see. You've only been out what… 4 hours. Impressive. But then I always figured you'd have a high drug tolerance. Bring back memories of your youth does it? But then there's your loyal dog, he hasn't come around yet. Little old John Watson. He's your sheep Sherlock. You don't need him. He's ordinary. You're special.' He taunts.

'Leave. Him. Alone.' I say slowly and clearly. 'If you so much as lay one finger on him… I'll…' I growl

'You'll what Shirley?' He taunts 'I could do anything to Doctor Watson right now. I could do this…' He says, as he runs a finger up sleeping John's left inside thigh.

'What would you do Sherlock? Would you kill me? If I gave you a gun would you shoot me? The one person in this entire boring planet that could challenge you? To save… this pathetic little man?'

'I would do anything to save John.' I calmly say. 'And if I were to kill you in the process, so much the better.'

He doesn't seem in the slightest phased by this and responds with a simple 'Fair enough. I respect your decision. We'll see how you feel in a couple of hours.'

'Hang them up Moran.' He commands to the man who bought John kicking and screaming through the door hours earlier.

'Wait!' I call out. 'The blackmailer, is that down to you?' I ask desperately.

'Oh no. Unrelated topic. Happy coincidence shall we say. Anyhow, I shall see you in a while Shirley, where hopefully you'll be a little more cooperative. If not than who knows what could happen to your little doctor…' He says, while he walks out of the room, ignoring my threats and pleas to leave John out of this.

This is between James Moriarty and I. John has no place here. Every second he spends around me he is in more and more danger. Something has to be done about that…

Then it all went dark. My legs feel week, they can't support my feet… I can't…

**Author's note: **

**Hello! Sorry for the wait between chapters, real life has caught up with me and my teachers have given me a ridiculous amount of work to do. Anyhow, I will try and keep updates more regular in the future.**

**As usual thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed etc etc, I love you all, you are amazing, virtual Benedict Cumberbatch coming your ways! Remember, reviews keep me motivated so keep them coming!**

**Iamasherlockian: I can't picture Sherlock as a woman either (innless you count the RDJ film) but the thought amuses me. **

**Oh and one more thing, who saw the final episode on Sunday? Did anyone else cry or was it just me?**

**Love Lizzie xx**


	9. Chapter 9 The decision A or B?

The Social Network

Chapter 9- The decision. A or B?

So it would seem that Moriarty kept his word. Not that I ever doubted that he would. He wants something, and he has no intention of stopping until he wins. The great game part two. But this time there's an added extra. The addition of John Watson being right in the centre of it all. Last time he was there, wrapped in the bomb gear. This time he's been drugged and will probably be physically and emotionally tortured if I don't so something. It would seem that he is under the impression that the good doctor is that inconvenient heart walking that everyone's been conversing about. Not that they'd be far wrong. But still, John cannot be allowed to end up in this kind of danger.

It's only then that I take in my surroundings. Most unusual for it to have taken me this long to engage what is around me. The after effects of the drugs must still be in my system. Something stronger than morphine I fear… chloroform. But how did it enter my system? Of course, the cigarette. Explains the smoke Moriarty blew around.

Anyhow the surroundings. On reflex I stair to the right and notice to my horror that John is hanging beside me. Hanging by his wrists, feet hardly touching the ground. Still out cold. And his state of undress. Not good, not good at all.

Instinctively I attempt to free myself out of my bounds… and fail miserably. Well, he would hardly have been stupid enough to use faulty handcuffs.

I gaze in distress at John. He's completely naked, and his state of dress alarms me. What if… no… he wouldn't. But why the hell not? He's a bloody psychopath. He knows full well the effect of not knowing. So, has he or hasn't he raped John.

His body yields no clues. But then it wouldn't. Moriarty is me, the other end of the spectrum. He's a psychopathic version of me. And I wouldn't leave any evidence. I could be a brilliant criminal in another life. No! Sherlock. Not the time. Priorities.

'John. John.' I whisper as quietly as possible.

'Sherlock.' He hisses 'What the fuck is going on?'

'You're awake?' I reply in amazement.

'Naturally. I've been awake for hours. Didn't think that fooling Moriarty would work, I was sure he would see striate through me. But apparently I'm not his priority. What is going on Sherlock?' He repeats.

'John he didn't…' I say, unable to finish the sentence, my voice sounding unusually concerned.

'Rape me? What? No. He just stripped me of my clothing as far as I know. And I'll ask again, what the hell is happening?'

Thank god. 'Good. Moriarty lured me here by threating to hurt you if I refused to comply, and as far as I can gather, he drugged you. I haven't yet deduced what he wants, he hasn't made any outright demands, but then again I wouldn't expect him too. Anyhow, how did he manage to drug you? Surely you didn't open the door to his associates?' I ask unnecessarily. Of course I know, the scene is painted as a picture inside my head. But it's best to keep him talking. Yes keep moral high. What with the painful tugging on the arm muscles and the goose bumps on John's bare skin thanks to the room's cold temperature.

John never gets a chance to explain himself, as the man himself walks into the room at that point, exclaiming loudly in his annoying acsent to let John and myself down from the cuffs and rest our arms.

We let are let down from the shackles our arms are contained in and each thrown onto a chair, with our hands tied behind our backs without allowing us to rest them. On Moriarty's command, my clothes are torn from me, and I am left exposed to everyone in the room.

'Ah Sherlock.' Jim practically sings, apparently ignoring the fact that John is even in the room. 'Had some time to consider have we?'

'Consider what exactly. I don't believe you have made any demands.' I point out.

'Oh dear me don't play dumb Shirley, you'll only make things worse for yourself.' He mutters as he moves closer to me, invading my personal space, until I can feel his breath against my cheek.

I fail to respond. He's going to slap me. Yes slap. Not punch.

As usual I am correct. Moriarty does indeed slap me, three times infact, across my face. Each slap comes after a word. With a couple of seconds pause in between. 'Don't.' *slap* 'Play.' *slap* 'Dumb.' *slap*. Then ads in a softer voice while cradling my face in his hand 'It doesn't suit you Sherlock.'

'You want me too… leave John?' I ask disbelievingly.

'And finally the penny drops! You're too intelligent to hang around with John Watson. He's so ordinary, when you're brilliant. But for some unforeseen reason you choose to not only live and work with this man, but are now shagging him! This will not do Sherlock. If you want your [laughs] precious John to survive then you will leave him and work with me. We could be great together Sherlock. Those idiots at Scotland yard won't stand a chance against us.' Moriarty whispers into my ear.

'And what If I refuse?' I ask, rather pointlessly as I have already deduced the answer. And he knows this. He will kill John. Then I'll be alone once again, and would be open to operating on the other side of the law.

**Possible solutions….scanning available data …results, 4 possible outcomes.**

**I refuse to co-operate and loose John**

**I co-operate and loose John, but will be safe in the knowledge that he is at least alive.**

**I murder Moriarty**

**Somehow convince Moriarty that I am not as clever as he has been lead to believe.**

**Innless….**

'I know you know the answer Sherlock. I would try to persuade you further, but anything I could possibly say has already crossed your mind.' He announces.

'Then I can only assume that my response has crossed yours.'

'But don't worry, there's no rush. We have all the time in the word. But as a small…. Incentive to make a decision, I'll just take John away with me and have some… fun.' He says, laughing evilly while signalling to a couple of his assistants to remove John from the room.

The last thing I hear him say before the door is closed is 'Sherlock! For god's sake help!' And it makes my blood run cold. How dare Jim hurt John?

'No, please!' I beg 'This is between you and I, John has nothing to do with any of this!'

'Oh how wrong you are Sherlock. He's your weakest link. And in any good battle the opposition exploits his opponent's week link. If you should find mine, feel free to use it to your advantage.' Mocks Moriarty.

'Please… don't hurt him.' I plead desperately. He can't hurt John. I… I'll help you. Operate on the other side of the law. But, John's my… personal assistant.' God if John ever hears any of this conversation I will never hear the end of this. 'He does what I say. Never makes a move without consulting me first. The… shagging… it's a… distraction. I don't need him. I use him. So you see Jim, allowing him to come along for the ride wouldn't be such a bad thing.'

'Are you telling me you feel nothing for your little pet?' Asks Moriarty, his head cocked to one side.

'Yes. Quite. He is a convenient distraction and nothing more.' I say, as convincingly as I can bring myself to be. If he believes this, he is not worthy of the title consulting criminal.

'Ah nice try Shirley. But surely you cannot expect that to be considered believable. Did you really think those cameras your darling brother put in your room were the only ones? You didn't search very toughly did you?' He mocks as he begins to walk tantalisingly slowly around the chair I am situated on.

Everything makes sense. I've been such an idiot. Maybe Moriarty's right. Maybe John does cloud my judgement. I would never have missed something like this before. 'I presume you're the ex-lover of Miss Morstan which caused John to fake a relationship with her?'

'Naturally. You think you're so smart Sherlock. Playing cool with the cheekbones and the long mysterious coat. Well you are smart but that's irrelevant. You are blind Holmes. You drag your John around with you everywhere you go. And it would've taken a blind man to see that your feelings weren't recipicated. I was informed that it was only a matter of time before you began… sexual lesions.' He spits out like he can't quite believe it's true. 'Well I knew I had to do something, and I originally thought that the end result would end in John becoming so upset that you had betrayed his trust blah blah that he would leave your company and we could be together.

'Did you honesty envisage that happening?' I ask disbelievingly.

'Not particularly. I put one of my men on your case. He failed. You won't be seeing him around in a hurry. But I always have a full proof plan B.'

'Which is…?' I prompt.

'Oh look around Sherlock; I think you'll be able to deduce it. Put that impressive brain of yours to work.'

Immediately I scan the room. There appears to be a large computer speakers and a microphone set up in the far corner of the room. Every couple of seconds the screen flashes then goes off again so quickly that it's virtually impossible to see anything. I crane my neck behind me and notice that a green screen has been placed behind me. Whether it's there to conceal my location or to give the illusion I am else where I am unsure.

Moriarty merely laughs whole heartedly and walks over to the computer, singling to one of his men: **6ft 2, dark hair, and scar (fake no dought to give the illusion of tough) on right cheek, moustache, blood on his right collar, faintly smells of flowers. Conclusion: ex-army, married 3+ years going by the ring on the chain around his neck, hit his wife- causing nose bleed last night, immediately regretted it, bought flowers, she took him back. Faint chocolate stain on right sleeve, child aged 3+- father dotes on him. Gun for hire, no dought Moriarty is blackmailing him to do so. Either to report assault on his wife to the police, or to tell his wife that he had sex with a woman with red hair 2 weeks and 3 days ago.**

And drags me towards Moriarty and the screen.

'Are we sitting comftably? Then we'll begin.' He says without waiting for a response to his question.

A code (126394582346823964JM353423914) is typed into the computer and three webcam pages pop up. One is my current setting, one a room full of 50+ people, and one of John, apparently in the same predicament as me. Still tied naked to the chair yet apparently unharmed. I briefly consider speaking out to him, but reason that the consequences for either of us could be dire so decide not to. Instead I gaze at the screen, into John's eyes, letting him know (or at least I hope I am) how much this one darling, jumper wearing man means to me. But the other screen. 50 people, an upper class dinner/dance of some kind. Oh dear god…

'Figured it out yet Sherlock?' Inquires Moriarty. 'Stupid question, of course you have. But I shall narrate for the not so brilliant around us. Sherlock Holmes you have a choice. Save your loyal companion Doctor Watson or this room of innocent civilians.' He says, eyes gleaming with excitement. And people call **me **a psychopath.

'What no!' Cries out John, tone outraged 'You can't do this! How can you offer Sherlock a choice like this? Sherlock, save the civilians!'

'Be quite pet, this does not concern you. Don't make me gag you. Or perhaps you'd like me too?' He asks me, eyes gleaming. 'Do you get off on this Sherlock? We all know you crave danger, this is your idea of heaven isn't it?'

'Piss off.' I resort without thinking. I take a breath, regain what little self-respect I can muster and add: 'How do I know you're telling the truth? These people could be actors for all I know.'

'Yes, indeed they could. But you know that's not my style. Life is not an issue to me. If a person is more useful dead or in impending doom then that is where they shall find themselves. You on the other hand Sherlock. Somewhere along the line you've gained morals. Life isn't just a number to you any longer is it? Each person has a life, a message. No dought some other bad habit you've picked up from your pet over there. Make a choice Sherlock. Save room a containing John Watson, or room B containing 50 strangers. Be aware that whichever you don't choose will face a most… imaginative death.' He announces, before bursting into fits of laughter. 'Bet you see where I'm coming from now. Tick tock goes the clock till Sherlock loses his doctor!'

**Author's note:**

**Hello! Usual thank you to all reviewers etc, you all rock, thank you to everyone who's stayed with this story, despite its apparent lack of direction!**

**I appear to have gone of the original topic of the story, and for that I apologize, I will be returning to the original story line eventually, but I couldn't resist adding Moriarty into the mix.**

**Anyway, I have exams coming up, so updates may be less frequent (though it is French so I could be persuaded to write instead of revise) so believe me when I say I will need encouragement in the form of reviews to write another chapter quickly. How about I say, if I have a total of 43 reviews by Sunday, I will upload another chapter on Sunday or Monday. And I can promise the next one will have Sherlock/John. So yeah, your choice.**

**Love Lizzie xx**


	10. Chapter 10 The soldier and the assistant

**This chapter contains moderate scences of a sexual nature between Sherlock/ John and Mycroft/ (not) Anthea. So skip this chapter if that isn't your forte.**

The Social Network

Part 10- The soldier and the assistant

Mycroft's POV:

'Text message from your brother Honey.' Announces my personal assistant as she untangles herself from my body and the bed clothes in order to pass me a phone.

'Thank you sweetheart.' I coo, barely paying attention to the phone, when her strawberry smelling cleavage and the prospect of sleeping is so much more interesting.

Idly, I scroll though my messages, only giving it my full attention when I register that the message is indeed from Sherlock.

Text message received from: SH

To: MH

Your assistance would be appreciated – John.

-image attached

-open (yes) (no)

- (yes)

'Alex, what do you make of this?' I ask, holding the picture out for my lover to see.

'A computer screen.' She observes thoughtfully. 'Three screens, Doctor Watson, your brother and a room full of people. And isn't that the psychopath who attempted to kill them both at the pool last year?'

'Indeed. James Moriarty, consulting criminal.' I confirm. 'Judging by this photo he's holding Sherlock and John hostage.'

'Yes, but look at your brother's face. He's concentrating, attempting to work his way out of this. He's attempting to make a decision.' Adds Alex, face screwed up in concentration.

'Dear god Alex you've got it.' I announce, stopping briefly to capture her lips with my own. 'Look at the layout. Three screens, Sherlock in the middle. He's been offered a choice. Save John or a room full of strangers.'

'What can I do to help Mycroft?' She asks, as she rolls elegantly out of my grasp and untangles herself from the duvet. She then begins dressing, tugging on underwear and a black trouser suit.

Que: the return of professional Alex. Or should I say Aimee as im told she wishes to be referred to as today. Darn it, trust Sherlock to get into trouble on the one day two of the most rebellious countries (I can't mention their names, but I can say they speak French and German) have declared a truce, and I could be sleeping with my rather beautiful girlfriend.

'I'll forward you the picture, could you hack into MI5, Scotland Yard, the CIA and the CIN databases and run the people through face recognition software? I ask.

'Of course.' She responds, amused glint in her eyes. 'Should I let them know prior to the act?'

'I see no reason why that will be necessary.' I state.

'Right away sir.'

10 minutes later, 'Aimee' dashes into my office then adjoining bedroom where I still lie, now fully awake, laptop on my knee. She has her iPad under her right arm, and precious BlackBerry clutched in her left.

Without bothering with pleasantries, she launches into her findings: As far as I can tell, there are 51 people in the room. 48 of them can be identified. 8 are British, 7 are American, and 33 are Spanish. Your brother's current clients the Sways also appear to be attending, along with a Mr Edmund, who according to Holmes and Watson's text message history, has some significance.'

'Edmund… where does that ring a bell… ah yes, the master blackmailer, with incriminating photos of the Sway's youngest daughter. Thank you darling. I myself have also done some research and have narrowed down their possible locations that these 50 people are located in 5 rooms. I've sent people to 4 of the locations; I believe that we should visit the 5th, as I am fairly sure it is the most plausible location.

'What exactly are we going to do if we find them?' She inquires.

Good question. One that I have a perfectly formed answer for. 'We'll cross that bridge if we get to it.'

**-SHERLOCK-**

Back to Sherlock's POV.

'Sherlockkk.' Drawls Moriarty, exaggerating the K in my name far more than is necessary. 'I'm growing impatient; you've had 33 minutes to decide. Have you made a decision yet sweetie?'

'Uh… yes. Could I speak to John… in private?' I ask, attempting to both buy time and speak to John.

'Why not. Go speak to the pet. The line's open. You have 3 minutes.' He answers.

'Could you untie me, and may I have my clothes back?' I ask pouting. 'Surely the downfall of your arch nemesis cannot be the same when I'm tied to a chair?'

'Sure sweetie why not. It's not like you've got anywhere to go.' Moriarty claps his hand once, to which another man walks up to me and roughly cuts my bounds free and passes me a bundle of my clothes.

'John.' I cry out to the computer screen the second Moriarty leaves the room.

'Oh hey Sherlock.' He calmly responds.

'John! How can you be so… calm?' I ask disbelievingly. I mean… he's a war hero… but you'd think that he would be a little upset with the prospect of an impending death.

'I texted Mycroft. He's figured out the location of the people in the other room. They're all safe.' Resorts John.

Bu…t how did he manage that?

'John… how?' I mummer.

'Turns out Moriarty pays his employees minimum wage, the man has three children and a wife at home, he was prepared to accept £1,000 euros for uniting me and allowing me access to your phone.'

It's official. My boyfriend (?) is a genius! Not on the same level as me of course, but he's getting there!

'Oh and we owe the man a thousand euros.' He adds

'That's… brilliant John.' I say awestruck.

'Thanks Sherlock.' He mutters, apparently astonished at the praise I have given him. 'So what happens now?'

'Simple. Moriarty lets me go, I find you, we walk out of here and go back to the hotel, have magnificent sex, solve the case, solve Moriarty, head back to Baker Street, have more sex.' I utter.

'That's it Sherlock, said goodbye to your pet?' Taunts Jim as he walks into the room and walks over to me.

'Oh I hardly think goodbyes are necessary.' I respond.

'Oh realy? No 'I love you Johnny?' He mocks.

'Nope. Not that I don't love him.' I quickly add. 'Anyhow, decision made. Want to hear it?'

'Yep why not. Go ahead.' He says looking mildly surprised.

'I've decided to save John. He's my partner in every sense of the word, why would I care about a room of 50 strangers? I suppose you'll be loyal to the agreement? John and I are free to go?' I ask, smirk plastered on my face.

'You're going to let innocent people die?' He asks disbelievingly. 'One life over 50? Do the math Sherlock. Oh god life is sooo boring! I thought you were different. I was under the impression that you wouldn't be tied down by anyone. You're on the side of the angels. So yes, go by all means, live your life. Take John. But don't expect this to be out last meeting.'

'Goodbye Sherlock.' He says singing. 'We'll meet again, don't know where don't know when! But we'll meet again some sunny day!'

I'm free to go. I can leave. Walk right out of here. There seems little point. The game is far from over. The playing felid may have evened out now, but it could tip to either side with the flick of a switch.

But John. John is my priority. After dressing and spending 5 minutes of dashing around this abnormally large warehouse that Moriarty seems to have taken owner ship of, I run into John, who had apparently taken initiative and attempted to locate me himself.

Immediately, I engulf John in my arms, holding him as close as I can physically manage, and whisper sweet nothings into his shoulder.'

Thank god he's alright.

'I thought I was going to lose you.' I whisper into John's shoulder, almost ashamed of my emotional display.

John pulls away from me at this point, and places both of his hands on my shoulders.

'Sherlock listen to me. I am not going to leave you purposefully.' He says sincerely.

'What if it wasn't purposeful? If you continue to accompany me on my cases, you could end up dead, and I cannot allow that to happen to you.'

'Sherlock, I am a grown man. I am able to make my own decisions. Therefore, for as long as you wish me to help, I will accompany you.' He says, pulling me into another hug.

'John I'm sorry.' I reply, wrapping my arms around John as he runs his fingers though my hair.

'It's ok Sherlock.' He mummers.

'So we're good? I inquire

'Yes, we're good Sherlock.' He adds happily.

'What happens with Moriarty?' Inquires John

'I don't know. But I dought we've seen then last of him.' I confirm.

'And the room of people?' I ask

'Well.' Say's John as he takes my phone out of his pocket. 'According to Mycroft, they're all safely of the building, and the bomb has been successfully disarmed. An associate of Moriarty's was also found, poised ready to press the button. Mycroft has taken him in for 'questioning.' Oh and out clients, the Sways, and the master blackmailer were there, and both wish to speak to us tomorrow as 9 and 10 o'clock.' John reads.

'Good. And the time is currently 2 am.' I add.

'So we 7 hours until we're required to meet the clients.' John hints. I will admit that it took me a little longer than necessary to decipher his hardly cryptic code (I'll put that down to the thrill of outwitting Moriarty) but eventually I get there.

'Hotel.'

'Oh yes.'

**-SHERLOCK-**

We barley reach the hotel room before our hands are all over each other, and any clothes that can be respectively removed in public are removed. No dought that the people who saw us in the street despaired of us. Especially the young (Christian recently divorced) mother who covered her child's eyes thanks to our persistent kissing and a man (married, 3 children, serial adulterer) who wolf whistled and informed John that he is a 'lucky boy.' I beg to differ. I am the lucky one.

Things become still more heated once we enter the hotel room and we are out of public scrutiny.

Within minutes both John and I are undressed and writhing on the bed in my room.

My arms are wrapped tightly around John's torso, desperate to feel his skin on mine, and John's hands are ruffling and fiddling with my locks.

Our lips are locked together, and tounges are moving into the other's mouth, but it's not enough, not by a long shot.

John's mouth then pulls away from mine, much to my despair. What happened?

'I want you in my mouth Sherlock.' He moans throatily, voice deep with desire and pupils dilated.

'Oh god yes John!' I cry

He slowly moves down my body.

'You know, until a few days ago I was under the impression that you were heterosexual.' I comment, hitching my breath as I feel John's wet tounge on my stomach.

'No, more Bi-curios.' He says, in-between tracing tiny circles with his tounge, causing me to moan involuntary.

'Oh realy, tell me more.' I say, barley able to speak.

'I've only ever dated women, but that's not to say I've never found men attractive. But you… well I suppose sher-sexual would be more accurate.' He mutters sweetly.

'And you John. I experimented in university, but they were experiments. You are my first relationship.'

'God I love you.' Responds John.

'And I do believe your feelings are mutual John.' I express. That's the closest I believe I can come to saying I love him at present.

From the position John and I are in, I am unable to see his face, but even from the angle I am in, I feel John smile against my stomach.

'Anyway, where were we?' Asks John seductively.

'I do believe you were about too…' I start until John interrupts me by licking the end of my penis, causing me to groan.

'You were saying?' He asks, smirk on his face, and glint in his eyes.

'John I swear to god if you stop.' I hiss

'Pleasure.' He responds.

An hour later both John and I lie spent in each other's arms. I turn my head to the right, and press a gentle kiss to John's mouth, fascinated by the fact that I am able to do this now, freely, without having to worry about John leaving Baker Street.

I lean in for another kiss and it becomes more heated, resulting in me on top of John, kissing my way around his body, marvelling about every detail of him, paying special attention to the scar on his shoulder that resulted in his discharge from the army, and becoming my flatmate.

'Round Two?' John suggests. Pulse elevated pupil's dilated, half hard penis stranding against my thigh. All the evidence would suggest that John Hamish Watson is aroused. And he's not the only one. And to think people assume I am asexual.

'Ready when you are.'

**-SHERLOCK-**

Mycroft's POV:

By 5 o'clock order is restored. Both Sherlock and John are safe and unharmed, as are the room full of people who are all alive and well. With the exception of the man who died of a myocardial infarction, but in my defence, that is classified as natural causes.

The man ready to blow up the room is being held in a government facility, ready to be 'questioned' at a later date, along with a couple more of Moriarty's hench men, all as stupid as each other. Unforchanatly, Moriarty himself managed to allude our grasp; I have my best men searching for him. Though no dought Sherlock will be on the case now that he has threatened John's life a second time, so I hardly think my precautions will prove necessary.

Other than that, everything seems to be in order, and I am finally able to retire to bed with my sweetheart.

Alex and I so rarely spend an un-disturbed night together, that out love making has come to be though pleasurable, swift and over far too fast for either of our likings

Tonight (or rather this morning) things will be different. While Alex showers, I set up scented candles and most importantly switch of all our communication devices, ensuring that just this once, we won't be disturbed.

Alex comes out of the shower, dark wet hair draping over her back, face free of makeup, body wrapped in a deep blue towel. She has never looked more perfect to me.

She notices the candles, and being the intelligent woman she is, guesses the phones are off, before reaching up and capturing my lips with her own. Together, we rid the other of all clothing, breaking contact only when it is necessary in order to remove the clothing.

Within minutes we are naked and writhing together on the bed. After the most foreplay we have managed since our first night together, I gently climb on top of this goddess and seek her permission to go further with my eyes. She doesn't look away and cradles my face with her hands while whispering 'I'm ready Mycroft.'

'I love you Alex.' I whisper into her ear, while gently nibbling at her ear lobe.

'And I love you Mycroft.'

She is the only woman I have told that I love her. She knows this. Knows what a huge deal those three little words are. And I love her for it.

Finally we are together, signing in contentment at the feelings of pleasure that run through us.

Just this once there's no rush, and it's a blessing. The phones are off. My sectary (not PA, only Alex may earn that title) is under strict instructions not to let any calls through.

But it won't last. It never does.

Sometime later, we lie together. Alex is asleep, body wrapped firmly in my arms rather like a limpet that refuses to let go. Somehow the phone rings. Rings while turned off with no battery inside it.

Without acknowledging the caller ID I know full well who the phone call is from. There are only two men capable and daring enough to do this. And I am lying right here, so I pick up the phone and whisper into it so not to wake Alex:

'Sherlock, what the bloody hell do you want now?'

**Author's note: (Warning, I ramble on a bit here, so skip it if you're not interested in the blunderings of a fan girl)**

**So, this chapter commemorates one week after the fall aired to England. I still get upset when I think about it. Poor John! Question. Im having an argument with a friend. How many of you think that what John didn't say to his therapist should have been something along the lines of 'I love Sherlock'?**

** What do you think? Sherlock/John and Mycroft/ (not) Anthea ok? What do you think. Do you want more of Mycroft and his PA or should I stick to S&J?**

**Chapter posted on Sunday as promised. Right, it's Monday tomorrow which means school (sigh), so I'm not sure when the next update will be. But I'll make you a deal. If I get a total of 50 reviews by Wednesday, I will update Wednesday night. If not, later this week. I leave you with a choice.**

**As usual, thank you to all my wonderful readers, reviewers, story alerts, fave story etc. You honestly mean the world to me, without it, I would have given up ages ago.**

**Thank you! – Lizzie xx**

**P.S sneakysnakes: First, thank you for your support. I appreciate your complements. I do however feel obliged to tell you that I probably won't be fixing spelling etc errors in the foreseeable future, as I tend to post on a whim. I write because I enjoy it, and I know my spelling isn't great. If this annoys you then there will be no hard feelings if you don't continue to read this story. Thank you all the same.**


	11. Chapter 11 The love and loss

The Social Network

Chapter 11- The love and loss

'Mycroft, I have a problem.' I mutter into my phone, quietly, as so not to wake John.

'Not a good time Sherlock.' He moans, apparently agitated into the phone. Urgh, he's sleeping with that assistant of his. That's a mental image I don't need. Must find a way to delete that.

'Alex is asleep, as is John. There couldn't be a better time.' I point out.

'What is it Sherlock?' Mycroft asks, having seemingly acknowledged that the quickest way to get me of this phone is to listen to what I have to say. 'And how on earth did you manage to enable my phone?'

'Irrelevant.' I respond. 'I require your advice on a matter of the deepest delicacy.'

'What's happened with John?' He asks. I can see the look on his face now, no dought preparing for another kidnapping.

'Nothings the matter Mycroft. Goodness how you jump to conclusions.'

'With your history you can hardly blame me. Anyhow, what can I do to assist you little brother?' He questions in a tone that I have always found patronising. However, on this occasion I am prepared to overlook it. I'll disconnect his phone lines later.

'I think… I'm in love with John.' I whisper, wary of the fact that John could wake up at any second.

'Sherlock that's wonderful.' Praises Mycroft, seeming genuinely happy. Though I suppose he would, he's effectively been my keeper for years. 'What could be wrong with that?'

'Im worried about him. The second Moriarty incident taught me just how easy it would be to loose John. Our relationship is now common knowledge to the criminal underworld. You know as well as I do, that John will now be used against me, and put in constant danger. I couldn't live with myself if anything were to happen to him.' I blurt out, regretting nearly every word the second they leave my mouth. Confessing my fears to Mycroft cannot be a good move.

'Sherlock listen here. No relationship is ever easy. And one with John and yourself together will be harder than most. But ask yourself this. Could you bare to let him go? Because if you do there's no going back Sherlock. If you tell him your true reasoning I guarantee he won't leave your side, and if you used another method, he will move out of Baker Street and you will be once again alone.' Mycroft firmly states. 'Sherlock promise me you aren't going to throw away what you have with John over childish insecurities.'

'I… don't think I could bear to lose him.' I mummer.

'In that case I haven't a clue why this conversation is taking place. I take it I am free to put down the phone?' He asks, voice baring the slightest hint of humour.

'Sure, get back to your assistant.'

'And you to John. Though I don't think that either of us needs that mental image of the other.' Mycroft adds.

'Agreed.' I respond.

'Goodnight Sherlock.'

'Goodnight Mycroft.' I mumble. 'And thank you.' Is added, so quietly that with anyone other than my brother I would assume it had been missed.

Despite the fact that Mycroft didn't actually say anything that I couldn't have worked out myself, I am surprised to find that our conversation actually helped sooth any doughts I may have had. I love John and that's all that should matter. It is still painfully obvious to me that John will no dought be used as a pawn in our cases, but I vow to myself that I will never let any harm come to him, and I know he would do the same for me. He's already shot the cab driver, what more proof do I need?

Safe in the knowledge that for the foreseeable future at least, John Watson is mine, I drop the phone onto the cradle, and relax my body onto the bed, curving my body against John's, moulding our bodies to the extent that we could be mistaken for one person. Tomorrow can wait, because tonight, John is asleep in my arms. And nothing, repeat nothing, could ever be more tranquil. And for once, I mean that positively.

**-SHERLOCK-**

'Sherlock I am going to say this once more and only once.' John calmly states. 'I am not wearing my jumper to the client's engagement party!'

'But why not John? You look simply **divine** in it. I cannot see a reason for you not to wear it.' I reply.

'That may be so Sherlock, but the invitation says black tie!' He adds exasperatedly.

'I have nothing against you wearing a tie.' I say, smirk being to show at the corners of my mouth.

'A tie and a jumper?' He says disbelievingly. Honestly, you'd think I was asking the man to go naked by the amount of fuss he is making.

'No Sherlock, just no. I'm going to get dressed; I think you'll agree that it suits me far better than an ill-fitting jumper.'

I huff in response, as he leaves my bedroom and walks calmly towards his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

By god was it worth the wait. 5 minutes later John emerges. I may have seen him in a suit, but that didn't even compare to what I am seeing now. I'm mildly concerned that he'll out do the groom to be.

I deduce that the suit must have been a gift from a friend or family member. John would never spend so much on what he considers a luxury.

The jacket is black, and has an almost silky look from a distance. It accentuates his shoulders, and is fitted around his waist, giving him an altogether delectable look. I shan't launch into a description of the rest of the outfit, for I fear that would result in John and I half dressed, hair tousled, panting in one of the bedrooms. The case must take priority, as much as it pains me to say so.

Still, I can't seem the harm in a little light flirting. 'You look simply divine John.' I mummer into his ear, after invading his personal space, and taking a moment to acknowledge the intoxicating aroma that John emits. Let me see: After shave, minty toothpaste and strawberries?

'As do you Sherlock. But then again you always do.' He responds huskily.

I lean in and press my lips to Johns, covering his mouth with my own, and applying just a little pressure. Apparently unprepared for my spur of the moment action, it takes him a couple of seconds to respond, but when he does, he seems to make it his mission to deepen the kiss. He gently runs his tounge across my lips, causing me to moan and hurriedly open my mouth, to which he slips his tounge inside, to which I recipicate the action. His mouth is warmer then I remember, and tastes of a mix of coffee and toothpaste, a mix that I decide at that very second, the thing I have ever experienced.

John's hands have wormed their way inside my partly unbuttoned shirt, causing a familiar ball of desire to build up in my stomach and groin when his warm nimble fingers touch bare skin, one hand grazing my nipple, the other hand placed protectively over my heart.

Forgetting the prior arrangement, I press John against the nearest door, resulting on both of us falling head long into John's bedroom, thanks to the open inwards door. Luckily for us, the room is small, and our falls are cushioned by the fall. Arms wrapped around each other, we climb back onto the bed, and launch back into another kiss. My hands become more adventurous, choosing the places John touched me previously and reciprocating the actions. My thumb grazes his nipples each in turn, as my other hand attempts to remove John's suit jacket and silky shirt. This proves harder than necessary, as john refuses to break the kiss, and I do not wish to loose contact with this beautiful man.

Eventually, we manage to remove the offending articles of clothing, shirts, jackets and ties thrown around the room, ending in a pile by the foot of the bed.

We both know that if our trousers are removed, we will not make even the smallest appearance at the engagement party, so below the waist line becomes a mutually agreed 'no go area' despite the painful arousal I am feeling, and judging by the tent formed in Watson's trousers, he doesn't feel any different. This doesn't however, mean that we can't explore each other's bodies above the waist in every possible way, with the occasional feather light touch to one or the other of our arousals, causing the receiver's eye's to cloud in lust, and more often than not, result to begging, with no effect.

'Sherlock, John. You have been in that bedroom 15 minutes. Surely you cannot possibly think you have enough time for anything to happen between you and be on time?' Mycroft calls out calmly. From the tone of his voice, I would estimate that he is currently sitting in the open kitchen area, no dought with that woman of his by his side.

'Your brother's here?' John hisses indignantly.

'It would appear so.' I grumble. 'Mycroft piss off!' I yell at him, with the slim hope that he will take me at my word and leave John and I to our own devices.

'Hardly likely Sherlock. If I were to leave now you shan't leave that bedroom tonight. You know how high profile this case is, and what with the uproar Moriarty shall cause when he decides to show his face, you will need all the positive publicity you can acquire.' He points out.

'Don't you have better things to do then to follow me around?' I moan. He's always like this. Never left me alone as a child or adolescent, now it would seem he has plans on stalking me my entire adult life.

'Several things. As I'm sure do you. But this takes priority. Come along, get dressed. We will be waiting.' He threatens.

'How does he know were undressed?' John whispers, slightly scared look on his face.

'Best not to ask.' I say in response.

'Why are you going to Sway and Morrison's engagement party anyway?' I mock. 'Shouldn't you be relaxing in your office running the British government single headedly?'

'My superiors have given me the night of. Alex and I have old friends attending the engagement affair. We decided to come along.'

That man has an answer for everything. He realy is most annoying; he's one of the few people who know me that don't take my word as some kind of gospel. The world would be so much simpler if my opinions were regarded as fact. Now the man will no dought annoy me all night, embarrassing John and contradicting everything I say. If only the Sway's had agreed to have him booted of the guest list.

**-SHERLOCK-**

For the first fifteen or so minuets, the party goes very smoothly indeed. The Sway's seem happy enough, with the exception of the look of apprehension in Mrs Sway's eyes. Apparently both her daughter's happiness and the Sway family name mean a lot to her.

Alicia Sway looks beautiful, or so I'm told. Personally I don't see it. Her hair is curled just a little too tightly to be considered natural, her eyes coated in a substance that does nothing to enhance them, her frame just a little too thin to be seem as healthy, and her dress a cut that adds around 5 years onto her appearance. John appears to notice my sceptical glances towards her, and informs me that under no circumstances should I voice my observations. This is her night, and I'm not to spoil it.

A very Spanish sounding song pours out into the room, with such a beat, that most couples in the room are persuaded to get up and make a fool of themselves on the dance floor.

As much as I detest dancing, when I look to my right and see John, eyes fixated on the couples moving, a drink clutched in his hand, I would be persuaded to dance if it weren't for the case.

The issue is that the blackmailer himself, has yet to make an appearance, and the party has but an hour and a half until it will be a respectable time for the majority of the guests to leave.

This can't be right! Edmund has no reason not to show. This would be the perfect occasion to scare the Sways into paying up, in front of a wide audience.

Then the room goes silent. I myself noticed the absence of the music around 2 minutes ago, and it appears to have only just dawned on everyone else. All conversations cease, with the exception of a muffled whisper running through the crowd. Curios looks are aimed towards the DJ and the party hosts, but they all look as confused as everyone else.

With the confusion thanks to the absence of music, apparently only John and I notice Edmund enter the room. Smartly dressed as always, blending nicely into the crowd. We immediately move in his general direction, but are unable to get to him before he begins to talk, and is easily heard thanks to the absence of any back ground noise.

'Ladies and gentlemen. All of you here are either friends or relations of either Miss Alicia Sway or Lord Morrison. But do all of you know the secret she has been keeping in the dark? I imagine not. Now, as I presume most of you are aware, The Morrison's are strict Catholics and…' Starts Edmund, but that sentence is never finished. A bullet from an un identified source flies through the air and hits him squarely in the head.

John, Mycroft and I immediately assume the roles we are best at. John rushed over to the fallen body of the man yelling 'I'm a doctor, let me through.' And begins attending to the man, and checking the extent of his injuries. Mycroft quickly and efficiently, with the help of Alex and the security he brings everywhere, ushers people out of the building, and begins coming up with excuses to tell people about what has happened. I mean while dash through the crowds of people fighting for the doors and stand in the by now almost empty room, analysing the situation and scanning the crowd for possible suspect.

The killer is likely male (these types of killings are usually male dominated; a female's style tends to be poisoning or a shooting in an intimate argument). He would have to be trained to operate a gun with such a strong aim, so ex-army or Special Forces seems likely. But something's not right. I follow the line the bullet came in to a window. Just as I suspected. A tiny but obvious bullet hole. The killer wasn't even in this room; he would have been standing in the hotel room exactly opposite to this room.

There is only one type of gun that too my knowledge can shoot over that distance. A specific air gun. Moriarty's signature. No dought Moran, his loyal assistant did the shooting, or one of the followers.

Before I examine any closer I look towards John, who is bent over the body of Edmund. He holds the man's wrist and consults his watch. After 30 seconds he retires chest compressions. 'He's dead Sherlock.' John says, voice cracking. 'The bullet entered his skull and pierced his brain. Poor bugger didn't stand a chance.'

A lone tear runs down his cheek. True the man wasn't very nice, but he didn't deserve to die. I pull John into a hug and he buries his face into my shoulder, as I stroke his hair soothingly. With the body of Edmund lying dead in my direct line of vision, I attempt to look anywhere but there, and so my focus my attention on the door frame instead. There's something not right about it. Horror hits me when I realise what I'm seeing. A countdown. A bomb. Moriarty's way of disposing with the evidence.

0.29

0.28

0.27

0.26

'John run!' I scream, grabbing John's hand and dashing for the exit. I do the maths quickly inside my head. The hotel we're in has 3 floors. We have less than 25 seconds to get out.

'What's going on Sherlock?' John cries out as he dashes just behind me, never letting go of my hand.

'There's a bomb!' I screech as we hurtle down the stairs.

I can only hope we make it out in time. If not… We're dead for sure.

**Author's note:**

**Thoughts?**

**WOW! You guy's rock! I asked for 50 and got 57! Thank you! You're reward is me posting a day earlier than planned. **

**This time I'm going to ask for a total of 65 reviews, for the next chapter to be posted either Thursday or Friday night. I'm not kidding when I say I am lumbered with far more than what I consider to be my fair share of homework and exam prep, so I realy need encouragement, more than ever before.**

**0oJustAFeelingo0: Yes, I recognised it too, it's a slightly adapted song that I found with a you tube video, for Sherlock series 2: 'Tick tock goes the clock, he killed the hound he mocked her. Tick tock goes the clock till Sherlock leaves his doctor.' Glad you liked it **

**I am a purple crayon: To be honest I didn't subconsciously realise I was connecting him with Sheldon from TBBT, but I was watching it when I wrote the last chapter, so references may have come through. I do think they're very alike.**

**Thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far, you have all been so brilliant and lovely. I realy hope you continue to enjoy it as much as I do writing it!**

**Oh and sorry for errors, I'm very tired and was in a rush to post this.**

**Thank you! – Lizzie xx**


	12. Chapter 12 The final problem

The social Network

Chapter 12- The final Problem.

'How long have we got?' John pants, as he runs alongside me, clinging to my hand like there's no tomorrow.

'10 seconds.' I respond, tugging John's arm, urging him to move faster. 'Hang on, stop!' I call out, causing John to run head long into me.

'Sherlock! What the fuck do you think you're doing?' He cries, attempting to pull me out of the building.

'John think about it, why would Moriarty possibly want us dead? What motive could he have?' I point out.

Nearly 3 seconds after I spoke my last statement, a loud bang echoes throughout the building.

Before I have time to act, presumably with soldier instincts, John pushes me onto the floor, and throws himself on top of me, shielding my body with his own.

The sound continues to spiral through the building, and other than a lampshade falling from the ceiling, the room John and I are situated in remains un-harmed.

Noticing John's questioning expression, I launch into an explanation: 'The explosion was controlled John. Moriarty needed to dispose of any evidence to be sure that the police would be unable to solve the case alone, attract my attention and get rid of any rivalries for my mind.'

'So he killed a man?' John asks disbelievingly.

'You sound surprised John. Psychopath remember? Just be glad that more people haven't ended up dead.' I point out.

'So what, this is the great game round two?'

'Oh no John, this can't continue and Moriarty knows it. This is very much the final problem.'

'What happens now?' John inquires.

'You come out to play boys!' Cries out Moriarty in the annoying acsent he insists upon using.

'Oh for god's sake, not again.' John moans, placing his head in his hands in despair.

'What do you want now Moriarty?' I call out, voice exasperated.

'To prove a point. You can't be allowed to continue Sherlock, you just can't. I believe I've made your options very clear.' He drawls.

'Stay on the side of good and die, or join you and survive.' I confirm.

'Congratulations Sherlock got it in one. But that alone would be boring! And we all know how you feel about boredom. So we're going to play a little game. You're going to prove just how clever you are.'

'No. We're not playing your mind games again Moriarty.' John firmly states, while he apparently attempts to pin point the place in the room where Moriarty's voice is coming from. Not easy I can tell you, especially since the position appears to be moving. There must be multiple speakers in the room, ones that are not easy to spot.

'Oh doctor Watson, how naïve you are. Surely you cannot be dense enough to believe that your opinion will have any effect either way. Whatever I wish to do will be done regardless. I will personally ensure that Sherlock Holmes is the only person capable of solving the crime. Therefore should Sherlock not participate, people will die. Could you deal with that Shirley? The mystery you didn't solve?' He asks.

'What will there cases involve?' I ask thoughtfully. It's worth a try. Though if Moriarty's stupid enough to answer, the man is not worth my time.

'Oh nice try. But you'll have to figure this one out for yourself.' He says, clearly ending the conversation.

John and I remain in the room for around 3 minutes, to determine weather or not Moriarty has anything else to say on the subject, before we pick ourselves off the ground, and head outside to where Mycroft and Alex presumably took the engagement party.

Mycroft waits for us by the entrance to the hotel, horror covering his face. John dashes to her side, apparently assuming that he has been hurt. When he finds nothing physically wrong with my brother, he motions for someone to bring him a chair. He's quite clearly in shock.

'Mycroft, what's happened?' He asks before I interrupt him with 'Where have they taken her?'

A lone tear dribbles down his face, which he quickly covers up with the age old pretence of hay fever; it wouldn't do for a government leader to cry. He hands over a crumpled piece of white paper and says softly. 'They've taken her Sherlock.'

I quickly scan the paper. There is a line through the middle where it has apparently been folded. I check one side and find 'GET IT YET SHERLOCK?' Scrawled in yellow pen, with a smiley face drawn in the 'O'.

During the time in which I scrutinised the front of the paper, John disappeared from my side. Momently forgetting about the letter, I scan the surrounding area and grow panicky when I fail to locate him in 30 seconds. Already fearing the worse, I locate Mycroft's so called body guards, and order a full perimeter search.

Realising that there will be no finger prints on the paper; I disregard precautions and ease the paper open.

Within seconds I've read every line. I turn white as I sum up the main principals inside my head. Moriarty's taken John and Alex. One for each of the Holmes. He obviously expects Mycroft to be an aspect in what he wants done. The world famous painting '**The Reichenbach fall' **must be stolen by non-other than Mycroft and myself. We will do so without the assistance of the police and our 'assistants/lovers' if we do not wish to be identifying their bodies. We have 4 days.

'Mycroft have you read this?' I ask stiffly.

'Of course Sherlock. What do you propose we do about it?' He asks, quietly and without any apparent wish to be in control. It appears Alex means a lot to me. Possibly as much as John means to me.

'I propose we steel this painting.'

'Sherlock are you mad!' He cries out. Then adds more calmly 'We can't stoop to his level.'

'Alright Mycroft what do you suggest?' I ask, emotion no dought clear on my face. 'I am not losing John. We clearly cannot go to the police, not that they would be much use anyhow. Do you have any contacts in this field?'

'Sherlock Moriarty has of course done this diliberatly. He wishes to turn you into a criminal, and what better way to do that then to blackmail you with one of the only people that means anything to you. Apparently I'm an added bonus. Incriminate a world famous detective and his brother in the British government. No, we must consider this objectively. I presume the man knows his art?'

'Naturally. He appears to have some kind of passion for stealing it. Late last year the Mona Lisa was taken by his hands.' I add.

'Alright. So a fake is out of the question.' He says. He then turns to his right and grimaces. 'It would appear we are being watched dear brother. May I suggest we re-convene elsewhere?'

'Quite.' I agree. 'I assume that you have a suitably discrete were house nearby?'

'Naturally. 'Out of habit he turns to his left, expecting to find his assistant, hurriedly typing instructions into her phone. Sighing, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his own phone (very rarely used, part of the beauty of Alex or so I'm told) and arranges for a car to pick us up, ignoring the engagement party. They are no longer a priority. The photos' were on Edmund's possession when he died. He would never have made copies, and even if he had, Moriarty would have disposed of them. He wants my full attention. No, The Sway's are free to live their lives without worrying about the consequences of their daughter's foolish action.

**-SHERLOCK-**

A little over an hour later, we arrive at a suitably discrete yet comftable safe house. Mycroft thanks the driver, and together, we walk into the dwellings, locking all doors, closing all windows, and scanning the room for any listening devices planted by Moriarty.

'I've been thinking.' Mycroft states.

'Oh?' I inquire.

'We could easily steal the Reichenbach fall. It wouldn't be a particularly hard task. I could easily disarm all security, and you could get yourself into the gallery where it hangs with relative ease. Moriarty must be aware of that.'

'It's a scandal.' I confirm. 'Two respected and well known men breaking into a gallery and stealing a nearly priceless painting in order to save our lovers who will continently turn up after words. No Mycroft, stealing the painting will be easy. Alluding Moriarty and no dought the press will be difficult.' I say. 'Do you happen to have any nicotine patches here?' I ask

Mycroft smiles softly at this statement. 'No, safe houses don't tend to have great need for nicotine. But here.' He says, handing me a lit cigarette. 'Consider it a late Christmas present.'

I thank Mycroft, and lie back against the sofa I am situated in, Mycroft my side.

'I can't lose him brother.' I state softly, for the first time since my 15th birthday, looking to Mycroft for support.

'I will do everything in my power to ensure that both John and Alex return safely.' He answers, squeezing my hand for reassurance.

Several hours, 5 cigarettes, 6 cups of coffee, 5 calls to Mycroft's office and 3 favours called in later, and we have a plan formed. Paper litters the table; snap shots of Moriarty and plausible theories are stuck and drawn on and to the wall.

Both so determined to have our partners returned to us, we work harder than we've ever worked. All childish disputes between us are forgotten, the case becomes my only priority, and Mycroft agrees to partake in a job that doesn't involve saving the country from behind a desk.

'Do you think this will work Mycroft?' I inquire, scanning a piece of paper for what feels like the hundredth time, determined not to miss anything. I haven't been surrounded by this much paper since the case John christened 'The blind Banker.'

'It has to Sherlock. Do you know; I was planning on proposing to Alex? Ah the irony. We may never make it till to death do us part.' Mycroft says, evidently distressed.

'She'll be ok brother. She isn't alone. John has been kind enough to accompany her.' I laugh half-heartedly.

'But she's a woman Sherlock; he could… take advantage of her.' Mycroft mutters, after carefully considering his choice of words.

'That should be the least of your worries. Moriarty's as gay as… well me. No, it is I who should be worrying about that happening to John.' I say, immediately wishing I hadn't. Horrible images fill my mind. John, naked, tied to a bed while Moriarty or one of his associates rapes him forcefully.

Mycroft apparently scences my distress and pulls me into an awkward hug, with each of our arms wrapped around the other's torso.

'Everything will be alright.'

**-SHERLOCK-**

It's now or never. And never simply isn't an option. Not with what's at stake. The Reichenbach fall painting is situated in London's national art gallery, so we immediacy caught a plane back to England and proposed to begin our plan. It would seem the only thing to do is to steal the paining.

While various members of my homeless network set to work finding an art frauder capable of making a copy of The Reichenbach fall, Mycroft has been calling upon his contacts, to see exactly how such security can be breached.

I have secured a part time, night-shift job at the museum (thanks to an excellent reference from Mycroft), and Mycroft has somehow wormed his way into the security panel – apparently being a government representative has plusses, so our appearances at the museum will not be regarded as out of the ordinary.

Everything seemed to go exceedingly well. Too well. There should have been difficulties. Moriarty did nothing to make things difficult for us. Seems like the rise before the fall.

We have The Reichenbach fall in our possession, and a fake is currently hanging in the gallery. CCTV and motion sensors were switched of curtacy of Mycroft, so there seemed no reason why anyone would be suspicious. Unless of course someone thinks to have the painting authenticated. Which of course Moriarty knew all too well. Hard to be a decent consulting criminal if you cannot predict people's reactions.

The gallery is alerted. The CCTV from the night in question is mysteriously found. Seems we didn't do a very good job of disposing of it.

The event was of course all over the paper the following day. Mycroft and I made sure to by a copy of each; different papers reactions realy are very amusing. There is of course a picture attached. And a fairly catchy title.

But the picture does not show either Mycroft or myself. Oh goodness no. It would seem batman and robin have a habit of stealing pictures.

Well, it seemed only appropriate. After all the remarks about the dear-stalker. Or should I say Sherlock Holmes hat. Though of course, no one's made that connection.

Why? Because they're all idiots. But they shouldn't feel bad. Practically everyone is.

**Hello again, sorry for the delay, you wouldn't believe how long it takes to learn 200 words in French. **

**Anyway, what do you think? For the record when I started this story I had no idea where it was going and im still not entirely sure, so bear with me? On the bright side, happy ending guaranteed, I promise. **

**As always thank you to reviewers etc, I love you all, virtual Sherlock****coming your way!**

**Trixie Lestrange: I got the 'they speak German and French' line from Sherlock Holmes: A game of Shadows, so that may be where you heard it. Glad you enjoyed, hope I resolved the cliff hanger to your liking. **

**Until the next update. Should be reasonably soon- Love Lizzie xx**


	13. Chapter 13 The Reichenbach Fall

The Social Network

Chapter 13- The Reichenbach Fall

Why did Moriarty wish to possess the painting, you may ask. Is it worth hundreds of millions of pounds?- yes. I believe it is insured for £200,000,000 and that evaluation is considerably dated.

Perhaps then, you assume that Moriarty would able to somehow profit from this? Did he own the painting (The Moriarty's are after all very well off) but couldn't sell it because of a clause in his grandfather's will. If this were true, should the painting be stolen, the two hundred million pounds would be given to the Moriarty family, or more precisely Jim and his sister Hannah with almost no effort on their behalf?

You would be incorrect to suggest this. Moriarty did realise Mycroft's lover: Alex from his grips. This is the theory she believed herself regarding why Moriarty wanted the picture. Mycroft and commended her, for it is a plausible theory and I explained to her what Moriarty undoubtedly had planned:

James Moriarty did profit from the theft of the 'Reichenbach Fall' but in quite a different way.

Because you see, Hannah Moriarty is an extremely talented artist. She could produce an exact replica of this priceless painting which could easily be sold as authentic, provided of course, the original was 'missing' the client would have no reason to doubt the painting's authenticity.

This con could be completed many times over, leaving James and Hannah Moriarty with more than ten times what they could have gained by any other method.

-SHERLOCK-

Technically speaking, the case ended after this event.

The clients, Miss Alicia Sway and Lord Tomas Morrison remain smitten with one another and are due to be married within the month. Despite my protests regarding the fact that I have a set fee for my consultation on cases, the Sway's insisted on paying me a substantial amount of money for my 'kind assistance' and asked that Doctor Watson would not blog about this case.

I agreed and thanked them (It seems John's rubbing off on me- in more ways than one), but the smile failed to reach my eyes.

-SHERLOCK-

"Well well well Sherly." Moriarty courses mockingly. Upon his request, Mycroft and had I met him in his desired location, when we reached the place, America as far as I can gather- where exactly I haven't yet deduced. We had been lead handcuffed and blind folded into a room a large room, empty of furniture as far as I could tell, with no windows and a carpeted floor.

"So, you stole the Reichenbach Falls." He continues moving closer to me to the extent where I could feel his breath on my neck. "I received it safely. Nice touch, sending it in an envelope marked valuable. And batman and robin? ADORABLE!" He exclaims, clapping his hands together.

"Remove their blindfolds. Un-cuff Mr Holmes the elder." Moriarty commands one of his associates.

"Well Mycroft Holmes. You co-operated, you may leave. Your darling Alex is in the next room. She's a little worse for a where and no doubt a little traumatized but by all means take her home. Or leave her here; she'd make a lovely decorative piece." He says, waving his hand dismissively when Mycroft left the room, after casting a look in my direction.

Little good it would do. I couldn't leave, not with the armed guards around me. Besides, Moriarty hadn't released John and I had no intention of leaving him to Moriarty.

Conclusion. He wants something more from us.

I nod my head briefly at Mycroft, and watch him leave the room before turning my attention back to my nemesis.

"Where. IS. John?" I ask clearly, punctuating each word, anger evident in my face.

"What does it matter?" He questions dismissively. "You have of course deduced that I have no intention of letting either you, or your _lover _leave quite yet, darling."

"Then what do you want?" I enquire.

"Sherly dear, you know I dislike it when you play hard to get. But for the less able in the room, I will explain. "It's quite a problem Sherlock, the final problem, because you see, thanks to your adorable little stunt with the CCTV cameras, some one is sure to work out eventually that I had a part in the theft of the painting. This put of potential buyers to the extent where the painting is worse than useless. Here, take it." He suggests, eyes gleaming.

He throws the painting in my direction, which I catch easily. It's genuine as far as I can tell.

It's only then that I notice the gloves adorning my assailant's hands. The obvious hits me.

"So you see, I had to turn this to my advantage. I planned to kill you, or better yet kill your little loveable doctor. But why bother? Why taint my hands. Do you know where we are in America- Sherlock?" He asks, taking a moment to study my expression.

"You've worked it out, haven't' you? You know where this is heading. Allow me to fill in the gaps."

"We're in Texas. Or Ohio. Most likely Texas. Any state that still has the death plenty. You're going to have me executed. You could prove that I stole the painting with little difficulty, but that wouldn't warrant death." I say, thinking aloud. "So you're going to frame me for something else. A murder." I conclude.

"Bravo!" He exclaims mockingly. "But whose murder I wonder? Let's see, who did I just set free. Wasn't that rather uncharacteristic of me?"

My face pales. Had Moriarty been a_ normal _criminal I would have assumed it was a bluff. But he had no reason to bluff. "Mycroft…" I whisper in horror.

"Got it in one. The brother that half of London can testify you didn't get along with."

"Even if you speak the truth" _Please, let him be bluffing._ I silently beg. True, Mycroft and I never had the strongest of sibling relationships, but I would never wish for any harm to come of him, least of all death. "There is no evidence to suggest I am the murderer."

"Evidence can be manufactured." He points out as if evidence in a trial is of little concern to him. _Which to be fair, it probably isn't. He is after all __**THE**__ Consulting Criminal_

"Though he's not dead yet. The sniper was shoddy, missed his brain just barley. He's been shot in the head. He's in a coma; he's unlikely to wake up. Even if he does, he won't survive. The police have been called. I'd wager you have 6 minutes. Spend it with your pet if you so wish." Moriarty offers, as he orders his guards to remove my cuffs and gives a dismissive wave indicating for his followers to lead me out of the room.

-SHERLOCK-

John's unharmed. The first thing I notice when I am roughly shoved into the room he is being held in. However, his face is as white as a sheet and he hasn't eaten. By his own violation I assume, taking into consideration the selection of food left on the table in front of him.

The only thing that comes to my mind is to pull him into my arms, and hold him close to me. "I love you John. You must never forget that. Never. I am in love with you. Whatever happens John, promise me you will always remember that."

John pulls away slightly, enabling us to look each other in the eye. He takes hold of my hands and says: "Sherlock, I'm in love with you too. If we ever get out of here, I'll show you exactly how much. You mean the world to me. But what do you mean, has Moriarty let us free?" He asks, his eyes light up with what I can only assume is hope.

"Moriarty's set me up, John. He will have me convicted of theft and murder. No, don't ask, there isn't time. We're in Texas John." I see recognition in his eyes as he gasps in horror. "Yes. If James Moriarty has his way I will be murdered at the hands of the state." I confirm.

"I need you to take this." I urge, pressing an object into his hands. "Do with it what you choose."

"Sherlock… I…" John starts before is cut of by three uniformed police officers barging into the room.

"Which of you is Mr Sherlock Holmes of 221b Baker Street?" The tallest one asks, scanning the two of us.

"It's him!" Another points out, gesturing to me. "I recognize his photo; he's the detective with the funny hat!"

"Right. In that case." The tallest one says in an authoritative tone, grabbing my hands and placing them behind my back "Mr Sherlock Holmes. You are under arrest for suspicion of theft of the Reichenbach painting and the offence of GBH which will lightly change to murder, towards Mr. Mycroft Holmes. You do not have to say anything but anything you do say may be used against you in a court of law." The officer recites, no doubt reciting from memory of a text book.

"May I say goodbye to my boyfriend?" I enquire, putting on a meek voice to evoke sympathy. The third officer has three adopted children with his male partner. With any luck he'll feel sympathetic towards me.

I'm in luck! The third officer nods and tells me I have 2 minutes.

I walk over to John and capture his lips with my own, wishing I could wrap my arms around him.

Just before an officer makes a move to prise us apart I whisper into John's ear "I am in love with you, John Watson. Don't give up on me."

**Hello all! I can't apologize enough for the long wait I have forced you to suffer through. I know how frustrating it is when someone takes FOREVER to update, I never intended too, things kept coming up.**

**A HUGE thank you to: **_**Mrs.T'Abby S'chn T'gai Kirk**_**. Without her, I might not have carried on with this story; she reminded me and asked me to continue.**

**We're nearly at the end of the story now! A couple more chapters to go. (There will be a happy ending, I'm a sucker for a happy ending) and I promise you all some JohnLock and (Mycroft/Alex?) 'action' thrown in to apologize for the wait.**

**I really hoped you enjoyed this chapter, I have a feeling that I've written it a little differently to the other chapters, I hope it's ok.**

**As regards to spelling, I'm sure there are probably errors, I'm really sorry if this annoys you but I just wanted to get it uploaded.**

**Oh and let me know what you think. I always need encouragement.**

**Thank you for your patience you lovely people!**

**Lizzie xx**


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